


Glass 

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A CURIOUS LETTER TO THE EDITOR OF 
HARPER’S BAZAR 

Springfield, Mass., August 3, 1904. 

Dear Miss Jordan: 

“You may, and I hope you have, some little remembrance of my 
name. But this will be the very oddest letter you have ever received 
I am reading that most clever and wonderfully well written novel 
“The Masquerader.” I have very serious heart trouble and may live 
years — and may die any minute. I should deeply regret going without 
knowing the general end of that story. May I know it? Will be as 
close as the grave itself if I may. I really feel that I may not live 
to know the unravelling of that net. If I may not know it for reasons 
good and sufficient to yourself and by no means necessary to explain, 
may I please have the numbers as they come to you, and in advance 
of the general delivery? I congratulate you on the story — it is to my 
mind the very best and most intensely interesting story I ha\e read for 
many and many a year; indeed I cannot think of any book I ever read 
which held my attention so utterly. I have my own theory of the 
end. I think Loder is in some way the real Chilcote. ... I just felt that 
(I have had so many troubles) it would be just my luck to die, and not 
to know the end.” 

The Editor of Harper’s Bazar was so much interested in the 
letter that the advance, proofs of The Masquerader were sent to 
the lady. 
















































































































































































































































































i 


SLfif 9 ? 


THE MASQUERADER 

by 

KATHERINE CECIL THURSTON 

ADVANCE COPY FOR PRIVATE DISTRIBUTION 
NOT FOR SALE — HARPER Sr BROTHERS 
PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK AND LONDON 

COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY HARPER k BROTHERS 

























































































. 

. 
















Drawn by OLA HENCE F. UNDERWOOD. 


FOR A SECOND EACH STARED BLANKLY AT THE OTHER’S FACE 


THE 


MASQUERADER 


B novel 


BY 

KATHERINE CECIL THURSTON 

AUTHOR OF "THE CIRCLE" ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 





NEW YORK AND LONDON 

HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 

1904 


UB»*«V CONGRESS 
Two Contes Received 

SEP 29 1904 

e frlgrht Entry 

2U- / <?o4- 
& XXc. No. 

f -*7 ^0 

COPY B 




Copyright, 1904, by Harper & Brothers. 


All rights reserved. 
Published October, 1904. 


harpers bazar 



VOL. XXXVIII 
No. i 

JANUARY, 1904 



THE MASQUERADER 


BY KATHERINE CECIL THURSTON 
Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood 



* 


CHAPTER I 

WO incidents widely different in 
character, yet bound together by 
results, marked the night of Jan- 
uary the twenty-third. On that 
night the blackest fog within a 
four years’ memory fell upon cer- 
tain portions of London, and also on that night 
came the first announcement of the border ris- 
ings against the Persian government in the prov- 
ince of Khorasan — the announcement that, spec- 
ulated upon, even smiled at, at the time, assumed 
such significance in the light of after events. 

At eight o’clock the news spread through the 
House of Commons; but at nine men in the in- 
ner lobbies were gossiping not so much upon how 
far Russia, while ostensibly upholding the Shah, 
had pulled the strings by which the insurgents 
danced, as upon the manner in which the St. 
George’s Gazette , the Tory evening newspaper, 
had seized upon the incident and shaken it in 
the faces of the government. 

More than once before, Lakely, the owner and 
editor of the St. George’s , had stepped outside 
the decorous circle of tradition and taken a 
plunge into modern journalism, hut to-night he 
essayed deeper waters than before, and under an 
almost sensational heading declared that in this 
apparently innocent border rising we had less an 
outcome of mere racial antagonism than a first 
faint index of a long-cherished Russian scheme 
— growing to a gradual maturity under the 
“ drift ” policy of the present British govern- 
ment. 

The effect produced by this pronouncement, 

Copyright, 1903, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved. 





4 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


if strong, was varied. Members of the Op- 
position saw, or thought they saw, a re- 
flection of it in the smiling unconcern on the 
Ministerial benches; and the government had 
an uneasy sense that behind the newly kin- 
dled interest on the other side of the House 
lay some mysterious scenting of battle from 
afar off. But though these impressions ran 
like electricity through the atmosphere, noth- 
ing tangible marked their passage, and the 
ordinary business of the House proceeded 
until half past eleven, when an adjournment 
was moved. 

The first man to hurry from his place was 
John Chilcote, member for East Wark. He 
passed out of the House quickly, with the 
half-furtive quickness that marks a self-ab- 
sorbed man; and as he passed the policeman 
standing stolidly under the arched doorway 
of the big courtyard he swerved a little, as 
if startled out of his thoughts. He realized 
his swerve almost before it was accomplished, 
and pulled himself together with nervous 
irritability. 

“ Foggy night, constable!” he said, with 
elaborate carelessness. 

“ Foggy night, sir — and thickening up 
west,” responded the man. 

“ Ah, indeed !” Chilcote’s answer was ab- 
sent. The constable’s cheery voice jarred on 
him, and for the second time he was con- 
scious of senseless irritation. Without a 
further glance at the man, he slipped out into 
the courtyard and turned towards the main 
gate. 

At the gateway two cab lamps showed 
through the mist of shifting fog like the eyes 
of a great cat, and the familiar, “ Hansom, 
sir?” came to him indistinctly. 

He paused by force of custom, and, step- 
ping forward, had almost touched the open 
door when a new impulse caused him to draw 
back. 

“No,” he said, hurriedly. “No. I’ll 
walk.” 

The cabman muttered, lashed his horse, 
and with a clatter of hoofs and harness 
wheeled away; while Chilcote, still with un- 
certain hastiness, crossed the road in the di- 
rection of Whitehall. 

About the Abbey the fog had partially 
lifted, and in the railed garden that faces the 
Houses of Parliament the statues were vis- 
ible in a spectral way. But Chilcote’s glance 
was unstable and indifferent; he skirted the 
railings heedlessly, and, crossing the road 


with the speed of long familiarity, gained 
Whitehall on the left-hand side. 

There the fog had dropped, and, looking 
upwards towards Trafalgar Square, it seem- 
ed that the chain of lamps extended little 
further than the Horse Guards, and that be- 
yond that lay nothing. 

Unconscious of this capricious alternation 
between darkness and light, Chilcote* con- 
tinued his course. To a close observer the 
manner of his going had both interest and 
suggestion, for though he walked on, ap- 
parently self-engrossed, yet at every dozen 
steps he started at some sound or some touch, 
like a man whose nervous system is painfully 
overstrung. 

Maintaining his haste, he went deliberately 
forward, oblivious of the fact that at each step 
the curtain of darkness about him became 
closer, damper, more tangible; that at each 
second the passers-by jostled each other with 
greater frequency. Then abruptly, with a 
sudden realization of what had happened, he 
stood quite still. Without anticipation or 
preparation he had walked full into the thick- 
ness of the fog — a thickness so dense that, as 
by an enchanter’s wand, the figures of a mo- 
ment before melted, the street lamps were 
sucked up into the night. 

His first feeling was a sense of panic at the 
sudden isolation, his second a thrill of nervous 
apprehension at the oblivion that had allow- 
ed him to be so entrapped. The second feel- 
ing outweighed the first. He moved forward, 
then paused again, uncertain of himself. 
Finally, with the consciousness that inaction 
was unbearable, he moved on once more — his 
eyes wide open, one hand thrust out as a 
protection and guide. 

The fog had closed in behind him as 
heavily as in front, shutting off all possibility 
of retreat; all about him in the darkness was 
a confusion of voices — cheerful, dubious, 
alarmed, or angry; now and then a sleeve 
brushed his or a hand touched him tenta- 
tively. It was a strange moment — a moment 
of possibilities, to which the crunching 
wheels, the oaths and laughter from the 
blocked traffic of the roadway made a con- 
tinuous accompaniment. 

Keeping well to the left, Chilcote still beat 
on; there was a persistence in his movements 
that almost amounted to fear — a fear born of 
the solitude filled with innumerable sounds. 
For a space he groped about him without re- 
sult, then his fingers touched the cold sur- 


THE MASQUERADER 


5 


face of a shuttered shop front and a thrill of 
reassurance passed through him. With re- 
newed haste, and clinging to his landmark 
as a blind man might, he started forward with 
fresh impetus. 

For a dozen paces he moved rapidly and 
unevenly, then the natural result occurred. 
He collided with a man coming in the oppo- 
site direction. 

The shock was abrupt. Both men swore 
simultaneously, then both laughed. The 
whole thing was casual, but Chilcote was in 
that state of mind when even the common- 
place becomes abnormal. The other man’s 
exclamation, the other man’s laugh, struck on 
his nerves; coming out of the darkness, they 
sounded like a repetition of his own. 

Nine out of every ten men in London, 
given the same social position and the same 
education, might reasonably be expected to 
express annoyance or amusement in the same 
manner, possibly in the same tone of voice; 
and Chilcote remembered this almost at the 
moment of his nervous jar. 

“ Beastly fog?” he said, aloud. “I’m try- 
ing to find Grosvenor Square, but the chances 
seem rather small.” 

The other laughed again, and again the 
laugh upset Chilcote. He wondered uncom- 
fortably if he was becoming a prey to illu- 
sions. But the stranger spoke before the 
question had solved itself. 

“ I’m afraid they are small,” he said. “ It 
would be almost hard to find one’s way to the 
devil on a night like this.” 

Chilcote made a murmur of amusement 
and drew back against the shop. 

“Yes. We can see now where the blind 
man scores in the matter of salvation. This 
is almost a repetition of the fog of six years 
ago. Were you out in that?” It was a habit 
of his to jump from one sentence to another — - 
a habit that had grown of late. 

“ No.” The stranger had also groped his 
way to the shop front. “No, I was out of 
England six years ago.” 

“ You were lucky.” Chilcote turned up the 
collar of his coat. “ It was an atrocious fog — 
as black as this, but more universal. I re- 
member it well. It was the night Lexington 
made his great sugar speech. Some of us 
were found on Lambeth Bridge at three in 
the morning — having left the House at 
twelve !” 

Chilcote seldom indulged in reminiscences, 
but this conversation with an unseen com- 


panion was more like a soliloquy than a dia- 
logue. He was almost surprised into an ex- 
clamation when the other caught up his 
words. 

“ Ah ! The sugar speech !” he said. “ Odd 
that I should have been looking it up only 
yesterday. What a magnificent dressing up 
of a dry subject it was! What a career Lex- 
ington promised in those days !” 

Chilcote changed his position. “You are 
interested in the muddle down at Westmin- 
ster ?” he asked, sarcastically. 

“ I — ?” It was the turn of the stranger to 
draw back a step. “ Oh, I read my newspaper 
with the other five million, that is all. I am 
an outsider.” His voice sounded curt; the 
warmth that admiration had brought into it 
a moment before had frozen abruptly. 

“ An outsider !” Chilcote repeated. “ What 
an enviable word !” 

“ Possibly — to those who are well inside the 
ring. But let us go back to Lexington. What 
a pinnacle the man reached — and what a drop 
he had! It has always seemed to me an ex- 
traordinary instance of the human leaven 
running through us all. What was the real 
cause of his collapse?” he asked, suddenly, 
“ Was it drugs or drink? I have often wished 
to get at the truth.” 

Again Chilcote changed his attitude. “ Is 
truth ever worth getting at?” he asked, irrel- 
evantly. 

“ In the case of a public man — yes. He 
exchanges his privacy for the interest of the 
masses. If he gives the masses the details of 
his success, why not the details of his failure ? 
But was it drink that sucked him under?” 

“ No.” Chilcote’s response came after a 
pause. 

“ Drugs ?” 

Again Chilcote hesitated. And at the mo- 
ment of his indecision a woman brushed past 
him, laughing boisterously. The sound jarred 
him. 

“Was it drugs?” the stranger went on, 
easily. “ I have always had a theory that it 
was.” 

“Yes. It was opium.” The answer came 
before Chilcote had realized it. The woman’s 
laugh and the stranger’s quiet persistence had 
contrived to draw it from him. Instantly he 
had spoken he looked about him quickly, like 
one who has for a moment forgotten a neces- 
sary vigilance. 

There was silence while the stranger 
thought over the information just given him. 


6 


HARPERS BAZAR 


Then he spoke again, with a new touch of 
vehemence. 

“So I imagined/’ he said, “though, on my 
soul, I never really credited it. To have 
gained so much — and to have thrown it away 
for a common vice!” He made an exclama- 
tion of disgust. 

Chilcote gave an unsteady laugh. “You 
judge hardly,” he said. 

The other repeated his sound of contempt. 
“ Justly so. No man has the right to squander 
w'hat another would give his soul for. It 
lessens the general respect for power.” 

“You are a believer in power?” The 
tone was sarcastic, but the sarcasm sounded 
thin. 

“ Yes. All power is the outcome of indi- 
viduality — either past or present. I find no 
sentiment for the man who plays with it.” 

The quiet contempt of the tone stung Chil- 
cote. 

“ Do you imagine that Lexington made no 
fight ?” he asked, impulsively. “ Can’t you 
picture the man’s struggle while the vice 
that had been slave gradually became master ?” 
He stopped to take breath, and in the cold 
pause that followed it seemed to him that the 
other made a murmur of incredulity. 

“ Perhaps you think of opium as a plea- 
sure ?” he added. “ Think of it, instead, as a 
tyrant — that tortures the mind if held to, 
and the body if cast off.” Urged by the 
darkness and the silence of his companion, 
the rein of his speech had loosened. In that 
moment he was not Chilcote the member for 
East Wark whose moods and silences were 
proverbial, hut Chilcote the man whose mind 
craved the relief of speech. 

“ You talk as the world talks — out of igno- 
rance and self-righteousness,” he went on. 
“ Before you condemn Lexington you should 
put yourself in his plSce — ” 

“As you do?” the other laughed. 

Unsuspecting and inoffensive as the laugh 
was, it startled Chilcote. With a sudden 
alarm he pulled himself up. 

“ I — ?” He tried to echo the laugh, but the 
attempt fell fiat. “ Oh, I merely speak from 
— from de Quincey. But I believe this fog is 
shifting — I really believe it is shifting. Can 
you oblige me with a light ? I had almost for- 
gotten that a man may still smoke though he 
has been deprived of sight.” He spoke fast 
and disjointedly. He was overwhelmed by 
the idea that he had let himself go, and pos- 
sessed by the wish to obliterate the conse- 


quences. As he talked he fumbled for his 
cigarette-case. 

His head was bent as he searched for it 
nervously. Without looking up, he was con- 
scious that the cloud of fog that held him 
prisoner was lifting, rolling away, closing 
back again, preparatory to final disappearance. 
Having found the case, he put a cigarette 
between his lips and raised his hand at the 
moment that the stranger drew a match 
across his box. 

For a second each stared blankly at the 
other’s face, suddenly made visible by the 
lifting of the fog. The match in the stran- 
ger’s hand burned down till it scorched his 
fingers, and feeling the pain, he laughed and 
let it drop. 

“ Of all odd things !” he said. Then he 
broke off. The circumstance was too novel 
for ordinary remark. 

By one of those rare occurrences', those 
chances that seem too wild for real life and 
yet belong to no other sphere, the two faces so 
strangely hidden and strangely revealed were 
identical feature for feature. It seemed to 
each man that he looked not at the face of 
another, but at his own face reflected in a 
flawless looking-glass. 

Of the two, the stranger was the first to 
regain self-possession. Seeing Chilcote’s be- 
wilderment, he came to his rescue with 
brusque tactfulness. 

“ The position is decidedly odd,” he said. 
“ But, after all, why should we be so sur- 
prised? Nature can’t be eternally original; 
she must dry up sometimes, and when she gets 
a good model why shouldn’t she use it twice ?” 
He drew back, surveying Chilcote whimsi- 
cally. “ But, pardon me, you are still waiting 
for that light!” 

Chilcote still held the cigarette between 
his lips. The paper had become dry, and he 
moistened it as he leaned towards his com- 
panion. 

“ Don’t mind me,” he said. “ I’m rather — 
rather unstrung to-night, and this thing gave 
me a jar. To be candid, my imagination took 
head in the fog, and I got to fancy I was 
talking to myself — ” 

“ And pulled up to find the fancy in some 
way real ?” 

“ Yes. Something like that.” 

Both were silent for a moment. Chilcote 
pulled hard at his cigarette, then remember- 
ing his obligations, he turned quickly to the 
other. 



THE MASQUERADER 


7 



“Won’t you smoke ?” 
he asked. 

The stranger accepted 
a cigarette from the case 
held out to him; and as 
he did so the extraor- 
dinary likeness to him- 
self struck Chilcote with 
added force. Involun- 
tarily he put out his 
hand and touched the 
other’s arm. 

“ It’s my nerves !” he 
said, in explanation. 

“ They make me want to 
feel that you are substan- 
tial. Nerves play such 
beastly tricks !” He 
laughed awkwardly. 

The other glanced up. 

His expression on the 
moment was slightly sur- 
prised, slightly contemp- 
tuous, but he changed 
it instantly to conven- 
tional interest. “ I am 
afraid I am not an au- 
thority on nerves,” he 
said. 

But Chilcote was pre- 
occupied. His thoughts 
had turned into another 
channel. # 

“ How old are you ?” he 
asked, suddenly. 

The other did not an- 
swer immediately. “ My 
age ?” he said at last, 
slowly. “ Oh, I believe I shall be thirty-six 
to-morrow — to be quite accurate.” 

Chilcote lifted his head quickly. 

“ Why do you use that tone ?” he asked. 
“ I am six months older than you, and I only 
wish it was six years. Six years nearer 
oblivion — ” 

Again a slight incredulous contempt cross- 
ed the other’s eyes. “ Oblivion ?” he said. 
“ Where are your ambitions ?” 

“ They don’t exist.” 

“ Don’t exist ? Yet you voice your country ? 
I concluded that much in the fog.” 

Chilcote laughed sarcastically. 

“ When one has voiced one’s country for 
six years one gets hoarse — it’s a natural con- 
sequence.” 

The other smiled. u Ah, discontent !” he 


‘ OTHER men’s SHOES !’ ” HE READ. 

said. “ The modern canker. But we must 
both be getting under way. Good night ! 
Shall we shake hands — to prove that we are 
genuinely material?” 

Chilcote had been standing unusually still, 
following the stranger’s words — caught by his 
self-reliance and impressed by his personality. 
Now, as he ceased to speak, he moved quickly 
forward, impelled by a nervous curiosity. 

“ Why should we just hail each other and 
pass — like the proverbial ships?” he said, im- 
pulsively. “If Nature was careless enough 
to let the .reproduction meet the original, she 
must abide the consequences.” 

The other laughed, but his laugh was sfyort. 
“ Oh, I don’t know. Our roads lie differently. 
You would get nothing out of me, and I — ” 
He stopped and again laughed shortly. 


8 


HARPERS BAZAR 


“No,” he said; “ Fd be content to pass, 
if I were you. The unsuccessful man is 
seldom a profitable study. Shall we say good 
night ?” 

He took Chilcote’s hand for an instant; 
then crossing the footpath, he passed into the 
roadway towards the Strand. 

It was done in a moment; but with his 
going a sense of loss fell upon Chilcote. He 
stood for a space, newly conscious of un- 
familiar faces and unfamiliar voices in the 
stream of passers-by ; then, suddenly mastered 
by an impulse, he wheeled rapidly and darted 
after the tall, lean figure so ridiculously like 
his own. 

Half-way across Trafalgar Square he over- 
took the stranger. He had paused on one of 
the small stone islands that break the current 
of traffic, and was waiting for an opportunity 
to cross the street. In the glare of light from 
the lamp above his head, Chilcote saw for the 
first time that, under a remarkable neatness 
of appearance, his clothes were well worn — 
almost shabby. The discovery struck him 
with something stronger than surprise. The 
idea of poverty seemed incongruous in con- 
nection with the reliance, the reserve, the 
personality of the man. With a certain em- 
barrassed haste he stepped forward and touch- 
ed his arm. 

“ Look here,” he said, as the other turned 
quietly. “ I have followed you to exchange 
cards. It can’t injure either of us, and I — 
I have a wish to know my other self.” He 
laughed nervously as he drew out his card- 
case. 

The stranger watched him in silence. There 
was the same faint contempt, but also there 
was a reluctant interest in his glance, as it 
passed from the fingers fumbling with the 
case to the pale face with the square jaw, 
straight mouth, and level eyebrows drawn 
low over the gray eyes. When at last the 
card was held out to him he took it without 
remark and slipped it into his pocket. 

Chilcote looked at him eagerly. “ Now the 
exchange?” he said. 

For a second the stranger did not respond, 
Then almost unexpectedly he smiled. 

“ After all, if it amuses you — ” he said. 
And searching in his waistcoat pocket, he 
drew out the required card. 

“ It will leave you quite unenlightened,” 
he added. “ The name of a failure never 
spells anything.” With another smile, partly 
amused, partly ironical, he stepped from the 


little island and disappeared into the throng 
of traffic. 

Chilcote stood for an instant gazing at the 
point where he had vanished; then turning to 
the lamp, he lifted the card and read the 
name it bore: “Mr. John Loder — 13 Clif- 
ford’s Inn.” 

CILAPTEK II 

O N the morning following the night of 
fog Chilcote woke at nine. He 
woke at the moment that his man 
Allsopp tiptoed across the room and laid the 
salver with his early cup of tea on the table 
beside the bed. 

For several seconds he lay with his eyes 
shut ; the effort of opening them on a fresh 
day — the intimate certainty of what he would 
see on opening them, seemed to weight his 
lids. The heavy half-closed curtains; the 
blinds severely drawn; the great room with 
its splendid furniture, its sober coloring, its 
scent of damp London winter; above all, All- 
sopp, silent, respectful, and respectable — were 
things to dread. 

A full minute passed while he still feigned 
sleep. He heard Allsopp stir discreetly, then 
the inevitable information broke the silence, 
“ Nine o’clock, sir !” 

He opened his eyes, murmured something, 
and closed them again. 

The man moved to the window, quietly 
pulled back the curtains and half drew the 
blind. * 

“ Better night, sir, I hope ?” he ventured, 
softly. 

Chilcote had drawn the bed-clothes over his 
face to screen himself from the daylight, 
murky though it was. 

“ Yes,” he responded. “ Those beastly 
nightmares didn’t trouble me, for once.” He 
shivered a little as at some recollection. 
“ But don’t talk — don’t remind me of them. 
I hate a man who has no originality.” He 
spoke sharply. At times he showed an almost 
childish irritation over trivial things. 

Allsopp took the remark in silence. Cross- 
ing the wide room, he began to lay out his 
master’s clothes. The action affected Chil- 
cote to fresh annoyance. 

“ Confound it !” he said, “ I’m sick of that 
routine. I can see you laying out my wind- 
ing-sheet the day of my burial. Leave those 
things. Come back in half an hour.” 

Allsopp allowed himself one glance at his 
master’s figure huddled in the great bed ; then 


THE MASQUERADER 


9 


laying aside the coat he was holding, he 
moved to the door. With his fingers on the 
handle he paused. 

“ Will you breakfast in your own room, 
sir — or down-stairs ?” 

Chilcote drew the clothes more tightly 
round his shoulders. “ Oh, anywhere — no- 
where !” he said. “ I don’t care.” 

Allsopp softly withdrew. 

Left to himself, Chilcote sat up in bed and 
lifted the salver to his knees. The sudden 
movement jarred him physically; he drew a 
handkerchief from under the pillow and 
wiped his forehead; then he held his hand to 
the light and studied it. The hand looked 
sallow and unsteady. With a nervous gesture 
he thrust the salver back upon the table and 
slid out of bed. 

Moving hastily across the room, he stopped 
before one of the tall wardrobes and swung 
the door open; then after a furtive glance 
round the room he thrust his hand into the 
recesses of a shelf and fumbled there. The 
thing he sought was evidently not hard to 
find, for almost at once he withdrew his hand 
and moved from the wardrobe to a table be- 
side the fireplace, carrying a small glass tube 
filled with tabloids. 

On the table was a decanter, a syphon, and 
a water-jug. Mixing some whiskey, he un- 
corked the tube, again glanced apprehensively 
towards the door, then with a very nervous 
hand dropped two tabloids into the glass. 

While they dissolved he stood with his hand 
on the table and his eyes fixed on the floor, 
evidently restraining his impatience. In- 
stantly they had disappeared he seized the 
glass and drained it at a draught, replaced 
the bottle in the wardrobe, and, shivering 
slightly in the raw air, slipped back into bed. 

When Allsopp returned he was sitting up, 
a cigarette between his lips, the teacup stand- 
ing empty on the salver. The nervous irrita- 
bility had gone from his manner. He no 
longer moved jerkily, his eyes looked brighter, 
his pale skin more healthy. 

“ Ah, Allsopp,” he said, “ there are some 
moments in life, after all. It isn’t all blank 
wall.” 

“ I ordered breakfast in the small morning- 
room, sir,” said Allsopp, without a change of 
expression. 

Chilcote breakfasted at ten. His appetite, 
always fickle, was particularly uncertain in 
the early hours. He helped himself to some 


fish, but sent away his plate untouched; then, 
having drunk two cups of tea, he pushed back 
his chair, lighted a fresh cigarette, and shook 
out the morning’s newspaper. 

Twice he shook it out and twice turned it, 
but the reluctance to fix his mind upon it 
made him dally. The effect of the morphia 
tabloids was still apparent in the greater 
steadiness of his hand and eye, the regained 
quiet of his susceptibilities, but the respite 
was temporary and lethargic. The early days 
— the days of six years ago, when these tab- 
loids meant an even sweep of thought, lucid- 
ity of brain, a balance of judgment in thought 
and effort — were days of the past. As he had 
said of Lexington and his vice, the slave had 
become master. 

As he folded the paper in a last attempt at 
interest, the door opened and his secretary 
came a step or two into the room. 

“ Good morning, sir!” he said. “Torgive 
me for being so untimely.” 

He was a fresh-mannered, bright-eyed boy 
of twenty-three. His breezy alertness, his 
deference, as to a man who had attained 
what he aspired to, amused and depressed 
Chilcote by turns. 

“ Good morning, Blessington. What is it 
now?” He sighed through habit, and put- 
ting up his hand, warded off a ray of sun that 
had forced itself through the misty atmos- 
phere as if by mistake. 

The boy smiled. “ It’s that business of the 
Wark timber contract, sir,” he said. “You 
promised you’d look into it to-day; you know 
you’ve shelved it for a week already, and 
Craig, Burnage are rather clamoring for an 
answer.” He moved forward and laid the 
papers he was carrying on the table beside 
Chilcote. “ I’m sorry to be such a nuisance,” 
he added. “ I hope your nerves aren’t worry- 
ing you to-day?” 

Chilcote was toying with the papers. At 
the word nerves he glanced up suspiciously. 
But Blessington’s ingenuous face satisfied him. 

“ Ho,” he said. “ I settled my nerves last 
night with — with a bromide. I knew that 
fog would upset me unless I took precaution.” 

“ I’m glad of that, sir — though I’d avoid 
bromides. Bad habit to set up. But this 
Wark business — I’d like to get it under way. 
if you have no objection.” 

Chilcote passed his fingers over the papers. 
“Were you out in that fog last night, Bless 
ington ?” 

“ Ho, sir. I supped with some people at 


10 


HARPERS BAZAR 


the Savoy, and we just missed it. It was very 
partial, I believe.” 

“ So I believe.” 

Blessington put his hand to his neat tie 
and pulled it. He was extremely polite, but 
he had an inordinate sense of duty. 

“ Forgive me, sir,” he said, “ but about that 
contract — I know I’m a frightful bore.” 

“ Oh, the contract!” Chilcote looked about 
him absently. “ By the way, did you see any- 
thing of my wife yesterday ? What did she do 
last night ?” 

“ Mrs. Chilcote gave me tea yesterday 
afternoon. She told me she was dining at 
Lady Sabinet’s, and looking in at one or two 
places later.” He eyed his papers and Chil- 
cote’s listless hand. 

Chilcote smiled satirically , “ Eve is very 

true to society,” he said. “ I couldn’t dine 
at the Sabinets’ if it was to make me premier. 
They have a butler who is an institution — a 
sort of heirloom in the family. He is fat, 
and breathes audibly. Last time I lunched 
there he haunted me for a whole night.” 

Blessington laughed gayly. “ Mrs. Chil- 
cote doesn’t see ghosts, sir,” he said; “but 
if I may suggest — ” 

Chilcote tapped his fingers on the table. 

“ Ho. Eve doesn’t see ghosts. We rather 
miss sympathy there.” 

Blessington governed his impatience. He 
stood still for some seconds, then glanced 
down at his pointed boot. 

“ If you will be lenient to my persistency, 
sir, I would like to remind you — ” 

Chilcote lifted his head with a flash of irri- 
tability. 

“Confound it, Blessington!” he exclaimed, 
“ am I never to be left in peace ? Am I 
never to sit down to a meal without having 
work thrust upon me? Work — work — per- 
petually work? I have heard no other word 
in the last six years. I declare there are 
times” — he rose suddenly from his seat 
and turned to the window — “ there are times 
when I feel that for sixpence I’d chuck it all 
— the whole beastly round — ” 

Startled by his vehemence, Blessington 
wheeled towards him. 

“Hot your political career, sir?” 

There was a moment in which Chilcote 
hesitated, a moment in which the desire that 
had filled his mind for months rose to his lips, 
and hung there; then the question, the in- 
credulity in Blessington’s face, chilled it and 
it fell back into silence. 


“ I — I didn’t say that,” he murmured. 
“ You young men jump to conclusions, Bless- 
ington.” 

“ Forgive me, sir. I never meant to imply 
retirement. Why, Kickshaw, Yale, Cressham, 
and the whole Wark crowd would be about 
your ears like flies if such a thing were even 
breathed — now more than ever, since these 
Persian rumors. By the way, is there any- 
thing real in this border business? The St. 
George s came out rather strong last night.” 

Chilcote had moved back to the table. His 
face was pale from his outburst and his 
fingers toyed restlessly with the open news- 
paper. 

“ I haven’t seen the St. George's ” he said, 
hastily. “ Lakeley is always ready to shake 
the red rag where Kussia is concerned ; 
whether we are to enter the arena is another 
matter. But what about Craig, Burnage ? 
I think you mentioned something of a con- 
tract.” 

“ Oh, don’t worry about that, sir.” Bless- 
ington had caught the twitching at the 
corners of Chilcote’s mouth, the nervous 
sharpness of his voice. “ I can put Craig, 
Burnage off. If they have an answer by 
Thursday it will be time enough.” He began 
to collect his papers, but Chilcote stopped 
him. 

“ Wait,” he said, veering suddenly. “ Wait. 
I’ll see to it now. I’ll feel more myself when 
I’ve done something. I’ll come with you to 
the study.” 

He walked hastily across the room; then, 
with his hand on the door, he paused. 

“You go first, Blessington,” he said. “I’ll 
— I’ll follow you in ten minutes. I must 
glance through the newspapers first.” 

Blessington looked uncertain. “You won’t 
forget, sir?” 

“Forget? Of course not.” 

Still doubtfully, Blessington left the room 
and closed the door. 

Once alone, Chilcote walked slowly back 
to the table, drew up his chair, and sat down 
with his eyes on the white cloth, the paper 
lying unheeded beside him. 

Time passed. A servant came into the 
room to remove the breakfast. Chilcote 
moved slightly when necessary, but otherwise 
retained his attitude. The servant, having 
finished his task, replenished the fire and left 
the room. Chilcote still sat on. 

At last, feeling numbed, he rose and crossed 
to the fireplace. The clock on the mantel- 


THE MASQUERADER 


11 



THE OLD RESTLESSNESS FELL UPON HIM. 


piece stared him 
in the face. He 
looked at it, start- 
ed slightly, then 
drew out his watch. 

Watch and clock 
corresponded. Each 
marked twelve 
o’clock. With a 
nervous motion he 
leant forward and 
pressed the electric 
bell long and hard. 

Instantly a ser- 
vant answered. 

“Is Mr. Blessings 
ton in the study?” 

Chilcote asked. 

“ Pie was there, sir, five minutes back.” 

Chilcote looked relieved. 

“ All right ! Tell him I have gone out — 
had to go out. Something important. You 
understand ?” 

“ I understand, sir.” 

But before the words had been properly 
spoken Chilcote had passed the man and 
walked into the hall. 

CHAPTER III 

C RYING his house, Chilcote walked 
forward quickly and aimlessly. With 
the sting of the outer air the recollec- 
tion of last night’s adventure came back upon 
him. Since the hour of his waking it had 
hung about with vague persistence, but now 
in the clear light of day it seemed to stand 
out with a fuller peculiarity. 

The thing was preposterous, nevertheless it 
was genuine. He was wearing the overcoat 
he had worn the night before, and, acting on 
impulse, he thrust Vfts hand into the pocket 
and drew out the stranger’s card. 

“Mr. John Loder!” He read the name 
over as he walked along, and it mechanically 
repeated itself in his brain — falling into 
measure with his steps. Who was John 
Loder? What was he? The questions tanta- 
lized him till his pace unconsciously increased. 
The thought that two men so absurdly alike 
could inhabit the same city and remain un- 
known to each other faced him as a problem; 
it tangled with his personal worries and 
aggravated them. There seemed to be almost 
a danger in such an extraordinary likeness. 
He began to regret his impetuosity in thrust- 


ing his card upon the man. Then again, how 
he had let himself go on the subject of Lex- 
ington ! How narrowly he had escaped com- 
promise! He turned hot and cold at the rec- 
ollection of what he had said and what he 
might have said. Then for the first time he 
paused in his walk and looked about him. 

On leaving Grosvenor Square he had turn- 
ed westward, moving rapidly till the Marble 
Arch was reached; there, still oblivious to his 
surroundings, he had crossed the roadway to 
the Edgeware Road, passing along it to the 
labyrinth of shabby streets that lie behind 
Paddington. Mow, as he glanced about him, 
he saw with some surprise how far he had 
come. 

The damp remnants of the fog still hung 
about the house-tops in a filmy veil; there 
were no glimpses of green to break the mo- 
notony of tone; all was quiet, dingy, neg- 
lected. But to Chilcote the shabbiness was 
restful, the subdued atmosphere a satisfac- 
tion. Amongst these sad houses, these 
passers-by, each filled with his own concerns, 
he experienced a sense of respite and relief. 
In the fashionable streets that bounded his 
own horizon, if a man paused in his walk to 
work out an idea he instantly drew a crowd 
of inquisitive or contemptuous eyes; here, if 
a man halted for half an hour it was nobody’s 
business but his own. 

Enjoying this thought, he wandered on for 
close upon an hour, moving from one street 
to another with steps that were listless or 
rapid, as inclination prompted ; then, still act- 
ing with vagrant aimlessness, he stopped in 
his wanderings and entered a 'small eating- 
house. 


x 


12 


HARPERS BAZAR 


The place was low-ceiled and dirty, the air 
hot, and steaming with the smell of food, but 
Chilcote passed through the door and moved 
to one of the tables with no expression of dis- 
gust, and with far less furtive watchfulness 
than he used in his own house. By a curious 
mental twist he felt greater freedom, larger 
opportunities in drab surroundings such as 
these than in the broad issues and weighty 
responsibilities of his own life. Choosing a 
corner seat, he called for coffee; and there, 
protected by shadow and wrapped in cigarette 
smoke, he set about imagining himself some 
vagrant unit who had slipped his moorings 
and was blissfully adrift. 

The imagination was pleasant while it last- 
ed, but with him. nothing was permanent. Of 
late the greater part of his sufferings had 
been comprised in the irritable fickleness 
of all his aims — the distaste for, and im- 
possibility of, sustained effort in any di- 
rection. He had barely lighted a second 
cigarette when the old restlessness fell upon 
him and he stirred nervously in his seat, 
and the cigarette was scarcely burned out 
when he rose, paid his small bill, and left 
the shop. 

Outside on the pavement he halted, pulled 
out his watch, and saw that two hours stretch- 
ed in front before any appointment claimed 
his attention. He wondered vaguely where 
he might go to — what he might do in those 
two hours ? In the last few minutes a dis- 
taste for solitude had risen in his mind, giv- 
ing the close street a loneliness that had es- 
caped him before. 

As he stood wavering a cab passed slowly 
down the street. The sight of a well-dressed 
man roused the cabman; flicking his whip, 
he passed Chilcote close, feigning to pull up. 

The cab suggested civilization. Chilcote’s 
mind veered suddenly and he raised his hand. 
The vehicle stopped and he climbed in. 

“ Where, sir ?” The cabman peered down 
through the roof door. 

Chilcote raised his head. “ Oh, anywhere 
near Pall Mall,” he said. Then as the horse 
started forward he put up his hand and 
shook the trap-door. “Wait!” he called. 
“ Pve changed my mind. Drive to Cadogan 
Gardens — Ho. 33.” 

The distance to Cadogan Gardens was 
covered quickly. Chilcote had hardly real- 
ized that his destination was reached when 
the cab pulled up. Jumping out, he paid the 


fare and walked quickly to the hall door of 
No. 33. 

“ Is Lady Astrupp at home ?” he asked, 
sharply, as the door swung back in answer to 
his knock. 

The servant drew back deferentially. “ Her 
ladyship has almost finished lunch, sir,” he 
said. 

For answer Chilcote stepped through the 
doorway and walked half-way across the hall. 

“ All right !” he said. “ But don’t disturb 
her on my account. I’ll wait in the white 
room till she has finished.” And without tak- 
ing further notice of the servant, he began 
to mount the stairs. 

In the room where he had chosen to wait a 
pleasant wood fire brightened the dull Janu- 
ary afternoon, and softened the thick 
white curtains, the gilt furniture, and the 
Venetian vases filled with white roses. Mov- 
ing straight forward, Chilcote paused by the 
grate and stretched his hands to the blaze; 
then, with his usual instability, he turned and 
passed to a couch that stood a yard or two 
away. 

On the couch, tucked away between a novel 
and a crystal gazing-ball, was a white Persian 
kitten, fast asleep. Chilcote picked up the 
ball and held it between his eyes and the fire; 
then he laughed superciliously, tossed it back 
into its place, and caught the kitten’s tail. 
The little animal stirred, stretched itself, and 
began to purr. At the same moment the door 
of the room opened. 

Chilcote turned round. “ I particularly 
said you were not to be disturbed,” he began. 
“ Have I merited displeasure ?” He spoke 
fast, with the uneasy tone that so often un- 
derran his words. 

Lady Astrupp took nis hand with a con- 
fiding gesture, and smiled. 

“ Never displeasure,” \he said, lingeringly, 
and again she smiled. The smile might have 
struck a close observer as faintly artificial. 
But w T hat man in Chilcote’s frame of mind 
has time to be observant where women are 
concerned ? The manner of the smile was very 
sweet and almost caressing — and that sufficed. 

“ What have you been doing ?” she asked, 
after a moment. “ I thought I was quite for- 
gotten.” She moved across to the couch, 
picked up the kitten and kissed it. “ Isn’t 
this sweet?” she added. 

She looked very graceful as she turned, 
holding the little animal up. She was a 
woman of twenty-seven, but she looked a girl. 


THE MASQUERADER 


13 


The outline of her face was pure, the pale 
gold of her hair almost ethereal, and her tall, 
slight figure still suggested the suppleness, 
the possibility of future development, that be- 
longs to youth. She wore a lace-colored gown 
that harmonized with the room and with the 
delicacy of her skin. 

“ Now sit down and rest — or walk about 
the room. I sha’n’t mind which.” She 
nestled into the couch and picked up the 
crystal ball. 

“ What is the toy for ?” Chilcote looked at 
her from the mantelpiece, against which he 
was resting. He had never defined the pre- 
cise attraction that Lillian Astrupp held for 
him. Her shallowness soothed him; her in- 
consequent egotism helped him to forget him- 
self. She never asked him how he was, she 
never expected impossibilities. She let him 
come and go and act as he pleased, never de- 
manding reasons. Like the kitten, she was 
charming and graceful and easily amused; it 
was possible that, also like the kitten, she 
could scratch and be spiteful on occasion, but 
that did not weigh with Chilcote. He some- 
times expressed a vague envy of the late Lord 
Astrupp ; but, even had circumstances per- 
mitted, it is doubtful whether he would have 
chosen to be his successor. Lillian as a 
friend was delightful, but Lillian as a wife 
would have been* a different consideration. 

“ What is the toy for ?” he asked again. 

She looked up slowly. “ How cruel of you, 
Jack! It is my very latest hobby.” 

It was part of her attraction that she was 
never without a craze. Each new one was as 
fleeting as the last, but to each she brought 
the same delightfully insincere enthusiasm, 
the same picturesque devotion. Each was a 
pose, but she posed so sweetly that nobody lost 
patience. 

“ You mustn’t laugh !” she protested, let- 
ting the kitten slip to the ground. “ I’ve had 
lessons at five guineas each from the most 
fascinating person — a professional; and I’m 
becoming quite an adept. Of course I haven’t 
been much beyond the milky appearance yet, 
but the milky appearance is everything, you 
know; the rest will come. I am trying to 
persuade Blanche to let me have a pavilion at 
her party in March, and gaze for all you 
dull political people.” Again she smiled. 

Chilcote smiled as well. “ How is it done?” 
he asked, momentarily amused. 

# U Oh, the doing is quite delicious. You 
sit at a table with the ball in front of you; 


then you take the subject’s hands, spread 
them out on the table, and stroke them very 
softly while you gaze into the crystal; that 
gets up the sympathy, you know.” She look- 
ed up innocently. “ Shall I show you ?” 

Chilcote moved a small table nearer to the 
couch and spread his hands upon it, palms 
downward. “ Like this, eh ?” he said. Then 
a ridiculous nervousness seized him and he 
moved away. “ Some other day,” he said, 
quickly. “ You can show me some other day. 
I’m not very fit this afternoon.” 

If Lillian felt any disappointment, she 
showed none. “ Poor old thing !” she said, 
softly. “ Try to sit here by me and we won’t 
bother about anything.” She made a place 
for him beside her, and as he dropped into it 
she took his hand and patted it sympatheti- 
cally. 

The touch was soothing and he bore it pa- 
tiently enough. After a moment she lifted 
the hand with a little exclamation of reproof. 

“ You degenerate person ! You have ceased 
to manicure. What has become of my excel- 
lent training?” 

Chilcote laughed. “ Run to seed,” he said, 
lightly. Then his expression and tone 
changed. “ When a man gets to my age,” he 
added, “ little social luxuries don’t seem 
worth while; the social necessities are irk- 
some enough. Personally, I envy the beggar 
in the street — exempt from shaving, exempt 
from washing — ” 

Lillian raised her delicate eyebrows. The 
sentiment was beyond her perception. 

“ But manicuring,” she said, reproachfully, 
“ when you have such nice hands. It was 
your hands and your eyes, you know, that 
first appealed to me.” She sighed gently, 
with a touch of sentimental remembrance. 
“ And I thought it so strong of you not to 
wear rings — it must be such a temptation.” 
She looked down at her own fingers, glittering 
with jewels. 

But the momentary pleasure of her touch 
was gone. Chilcote drew away his hand and 
picked up the book that lay between them. 

" Other Mens Shoes!” he read. “ A novel, 
of course?” 

She smiled. “ Of course. Such a fantastic 
story. Two men changing identities.” 

Chilcote rose and walked back to the 
mantelpiece. 

“ Changing identities ?” he said, with a 
touch of interest. 

“Yes. One man is an artist, the other a 


14 


HARPERS BAZAR 


millionaire; one wants to know what fame is 
like, the other wants to know how it feels to 
be really sinfully rich. So they exchange ex- 
periences for a month.” She laughed. 

Chilcote laughed as well. “ But how ?” he 
asked. 

“ Oh, I told you the idea was absurd. 
Fancy two people so much alike that neither 
their friends nor their servants see any dif- 
ference ! Such a thing couldn’t be, could it ?” 

Chilcote looked down at the fire. “ No,” 
he said, doubtfully. “ No. I suppose not.” 

“ Of course not. There are likenesses, but 
not freak likenesses like that.” 

Chilcote’s head was bent as she spoke, but 
at the last words he lifted it. 

“By Jove! I don’t know about that!” he 
said. “ Not so very long ago I saw two men 
so much alike that I — I — He stopped. 

Lillian smiled. 

He colored quickly. “You doubt me?” he 
asked.# 

“My dear Jack!” Tier voice was deli- 
cately reproachful. 

“ Then you think that my — my imagina- 
tion has been playing me tricks?” 

“My dear boy! Nothing of the kind. 
Come back to your place and tell me the 
whole tale?” She smiled again, and patted 
the couch invitingly. 

But Chilcote’s balance had been upset. 
For the first time he saw Lillian as one of the 
watchful, suspecting crowd before which he 
was constantly on guard. Acting on the sen- 
sation, he moved suddenly towards the door. 

“ I — I have an appointment at the House,” 
he said, quickly. “ I’ll look in another day 
when — when I’m better company. I know 
I’m a bear to-day. My nerves, you know!” 
He came back to the couch and took her 
hand; then he touched her cheek for an in- 
stant with his fingers. 

“ Good-by !” he said. “ Take care of your- 
self — and the kitten!” he added, with forced 
gayety, as he crossed the room. 

That afternoon Chilcote’s nervous condi- 
tion reached its height. All day he had 
avoided the climax, but no evasion can be 
eternal, and this he realized as he sat in his 
place on the Opposition benches during the 
half-hour of wintry twilight that precedes the 
turning on of the lights. He realized it in 
that half-hour, but the application of the 
knowledge followed later, when the time came 
for him to question the Government on some 


point relating to a proposed additional dry 
dock at Talkley, the naval base. Then for 
the first time he knew that the sufferings of 
the past months could have a visible as well 
as a hidden side — could disorganize his daily 
routine as they had already demoralized his 
will and character. 

The thing came upon him with extraordi- 
nary lack of preparation. He sat through 
the twilight with tolerable calm, his nervous- 
ness showing only in the occasional lifting of 
his hand to his collar and the frequent 
changing of his position; but when the lights 
were turned on, and he leant back in his 
seat with closed eyes, he became conscious of 
a curious impression — a disturbing idea that 
through his closed lids he could see the faces 
on the opposite side of the House, see the 
rows of eyes, sleepy, interested, or vigilant. 
Never before had the sensation presented it- 
self, but once set up, it ran through all his 
susceptibilities. By an absurd freak of fancy 
those varying eyes seemed to pierce through 
his lids, almost through his eyeballs. The 
cold perspiration that was his daily horror 
broke out on his forehead; and at the same 
moment Fraide, his leader, turned, leant 
over the back of his seat, and touched his 
knee. 

Chilcote started and opened his eyes. “ I — 
I believe I was dozing,” he said, confusedly. 

Fraide smiled his dry, kindly smile. “A 
fatal admission for a member of the Opposi- 
tion,” he said. “ But I was looking for you 
earlier in the day, Chilcote. There is some- 
thing behind this Persian affair. I believe it 
to be a mere first move on Russia’s part. You 
big trading people will find it worth watch- 
ing.” 

Chilcote shrugged his shoulders. “ Oh, I 
don’t know,” he said. “ I scarcely believe in 
it. Lakeley put a match to the powder in the 
St. George's , but ’twill only be a noise and a 
puff of smoke.” 

But Fraide did not smile. “What is the 
feeling down at Wark?” he asked. “Has it 
awakened any interest?” 

“At Wark? Oh, I — I don’t quite know. 
I have been a little out of touch with Wark 
in the last few weeks. A man has so many 
private affairs to look to — ” He was uneasy 
under his chief’s scrutiny. 

Fraide’s lips parted as if to make reply, 
but with a certain dignified reticence he 
closed them again and turned away. 

Chilcote leant back in his place and 


THE MASQUERADER 


15 


furtively passed his hand over his forehead. 
His mind was possessed by one consideration 
— the consideration of himself. He glanced 
down the crowded, lighted House to the big 
glass doors; he glanced about him at his col- 
leagues, indifferent or interested ; then sur- 
reptitiously his fingers strayed to his waist- 
coat pocket. 

Usually he carried his morphia tabloids 
with him, but to-day by a lapse of memory 
he had left them at home. He knew this, 
nevertheless he continued to search, while the 
need of the drug rushed through him with a 
sense of physical sickness. He lost hold on 
the business of the House; unconsciously he 
half rose from his seat. 

The man next him looked up. “ Hold your 
ground, Chilcote,” he said. “ Eayforth is 
drying up.” 

With a wave of relief Chilcote dropped 
back into his place. Whatever the confusion 
in his mind, it was evidently not obvious in 
his face. 

Eayforth resumed his seat, there was the 
usual slight stir and pause, then Salett, the 
member for Salchester, rose. 

With Salett’s first words Chilcote’s hand 
again sought his pocket, and again his eyes 
strayed towards the doors, but Fraide’s erect 
head and stiff back just in front of him held 
him quiet. With an effort he pulled out his 
notes and smoothed them nervously, but 
though his gaze was fixed on the pages, not a 
line of Blessington’s clear writing reached his 
mind. He glanced at the face of the Speaker, 
then at the faces on the Treasury Bench, then 
once more he leant back in his seat. 

The man beside him saw the movement. 
“ Funking the dry dock?” he whispered, jest- 
ingly. 

“ No,” Chilcote turned to him suddenly, 
“ but I feel beastly — have felt beastly for 
weeks.” 


The other looked at him more closely. 
“ Anything wrong ?” he asked. It was a novel 
experience to be confided in by Chilcote. 

“ Oh, it’s the grind — the infernal grind.” 
As he said it, it seemed to him suddenly that 
his strength gave way. He forgot his com- 
panion, his position, everything except the 
urgent instinct that filled mind and body. 
Scarcely knowing what he did, he rose and 
leant forward to whisper in Fraide’s ear. 

Fraide was seen to turn, his thin face inter- 
ested and concerned, then he was seen to nod 
once or twice in acquiescence, and a moment 
later Chilcote stepped quietly out of his place. 

One or two men spoke to him as he hurried 
from the House, but he shook them off almost 
uncivilly, and making for the nearest exit, 
hailed a cab. 

The drive to Grosvenor Square was a 
misery. Time after time he changed from 
one corner of the cab to the other, his acute 
internal pains prolonged by every delay and 
increased by every motion. At last, weak in 
all his limbs, he stepped from the vehicle at 
his own door. 

Entering the house, he instantly mounted 
the stairs and passed to his own rooms. Open- 
ing the bedroom door, he peered in cautiously, 
then pushed the door wide. The light had 
been switched on, but the room was empty. 
With a nervous excitement scarcely to be kept 
in check he entered, shut and locked the door, 
then moved to the wardrobe, and opening it, 
drew the tube of tabloids from the shelf. 

His hand shook violently as he carried the 
bottle to the table. The strain of the day, the 
anxiety of the past hours with their final 
failure, had found sudden expression. Mixing 
a larger dose than any he had before allowed 
himself, he swallowed it hastily, and walking 
across the room, threw himself, fully dressed, 
on the bed. 

[to be continued.] 



16 


HARPER'S BAZAR 


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HIS story is partly about 
school. 

In school there are the 
teacher and the rules. The 
connection between the teach- 
er and the rules is plain 
enough. They both want to be mean. In 
defending one’s self, big geographies are a 
great help. They shelter scribbling little girls 
so protectingly, almost like a house of one’s 
own. 

One day the teacher looked up suddenly. 



“ Why, I love you, you sweet little girl!" 


She looked straight at a little girl who was 
only studying geography. 

“ Euth,” she said, “ bring me what you are 
writing.” 



Have you ever gazed at some sunlit place f 


The little boys all stopped trying hard 
to study and stared with sympathetic eyes, 
wondering when they would be caught. The 
little girls looked at each other. They 
began to whisper. What were they say- 
ing, Euth wondered in agony. Oh, if she 
could have fainted ! Oh, if she could 
have been carried lifeless to her darkened 
home! 

The teacher read the note softly to herself : 
“ I know who Clarence’s wright best girl is.” 
(The teacher was somebody’s best girl her- 
self.) “ I’ll keep the note,” she said, as stern- 
ly as she could. “You may take your seat 
this time.” (Teachers must wait until recess 
to smile.) 

Have you ever gazed at some sunlit place 


n-e 



©|1 

BUS* 

47 



THE CORONATION OF MRS. SEACOCK 


141 


breath. It was so still that an exploring hen, 
advancing with much jerking of the head 
and with muted duckings away down in its 
throat, actually adventured within the open 
door and stole a fearful joy from the contem- 
plation of the cook-stove. 

Mrs. Beacock had not moved except to 
stroke Lidy’s hair while the girl was sob- 
bing. Now she stood absolutely still. One 
would have said she held her breath. She 
caught it as Lidy’s hand stole timidly upward 
and rounded itself to her mother’s thin cheek. 
Here were marvels ! Which was greater, that 
a cheek should be laid to one’s hand, or a 
hand to one’s cheek? Mrs. Beacock had felt 
a soft thrill of pleasure and surprise at the 
pretty caress of the minister’s wife; but only 
the mother heart, which knows the purest 
yet keenest of raptures, could vibrate as 
did Mrs. Beacock’s at Lidy’s touch of tender- 
ness. 

“Yew’re the best mother that ever was,” 
whispered Lidy. 

Mrs. Beacock’s arms tightened convulsively, 
but she said nothing. Lidy’s hand patted the 
thin cheek. The burst of tears had relieved 
the tension with her, and her heart was ready 
to be flooded with sunshine. 

“ Yew air the best mother,” she repeated, 
unconsciously going back to her ante-insti- 
tute accent. 

She was not at all conscious that the little 
speech lacked variety. Something within her 
impelled her to words, but she did not choose. 
Without realizing it, she took those which 
said everything. 

“ Just the best mother,” again. Then with 
a sigh, somewhat hopeless but far more happy, 
“ If I could ever be as nice as yew air !” 

That brought words at last. 

“ Yew’ll be findin’ yure mother aout some 
o’ these days.” 

“ I hope so,” said Lidy, suddenly serious 
and strangely older. “ I hope so. The mone 
I find out about you the more I’m bound to 
think of you. I’ve found out that much 
already.” 

At this point Lidy remembered that she 
had had a plan of campaign; a plan which 
was to have begun with banter, after the man- 
ner of the minister’s wife. She made haste 
to resume operations along that line. Shak- 
ing her finger at her mother — her mother 


whose eyes were shining softly and whose 
face was indescribably altered by happiness^ 
she exclaimed : 

“ Now I’m goin’ to play I’m your hired girl, 
so you’ve got to set down — set, sit — oh, any- 
how, you’ve got to set in this here chair an’ 
boss me. No, sir! no, sir!” as her mother 
protested. “ Now, mother ! you got to let me 
or you — you — you ain't the best mother !” 

Thereupon wise Mrs. Beacock sat promptly 
down in the splint-bottomed chair and pre- 
pared to boss her hired girl. She proved to 
be a very cheerful person, the hired girl. She 
laughed and chatted while she finished the 
potato-peeling. She told tales out of school 
about school. She rehearsed her latest en- 
counter with Piety on the subject of why you 
must say “ the Beacock family is,” when 
said family is plural to the extent of ten 
members. She referred to the papering of 
the kitchen walls, which, so she informed the 
mistress, was “ almighty well put on.” 

“An’ wheer’d ye git the paper?” asked the 
hired girl, with her best twang. “ ’Pears ter 
me ez ef I done seen that thar pattron afore. 
It’s one o’ them new ones thet’s black ’nd 
white ’nd read all over, ain’t it?” 

Mrs. Beacock dutifully and, it must be ad- 
mitted, delightedly laughed at the old pun. 
Lidy had used it to good purpose, for her 
mother had papered the walls with old news- 
papers. 

“ Yaas,” said Lidy, halting, dishes in hand, 
in front of a staring head-line. “ Naow 
here’s a nice figger in the pattron.” She read 
aloud : 

“ GREAT PREPARATIONS FOR 
THE CORONATION OF 
EDWARD VII. 

“Yaas’m, I dun’no’s I ever seen a paper 
I tuck a better likin’ tew* That coronation 
figger’s almighty interestin’. Yew ain’t 
a-thinkin’ o’ goin’ tew the coronation yerse’f, 
be ye?” with a happy carelessness as to pres- 
ent possibilities. 

Mrs. Beacock drew the girl down to her 
knee. 

“ No, honey,” she said, with a wistful smile. 
“ I don’t care much ter see other folks’s coro- 
nations. I’d a heap ruther stay ter home an’ 
hev one o’ my own — same’s I’ve hed it to- 
day.” 




142 


HARPERS BAZAR 





CHAPTER IV 
O those whose sphere lies in 
the west of London, Eleet 
Street is little more than a 
name, and Clifford’s Inn a 
mere dead letter. Yet Clif- 
ford’s Inn lies as safely stow- 
ed away in the shadow of the Law Courts as 
any grave under a country church wall; it is 
as green of grass, as gray of stone, as irre- 
sponsive to the passing footstep. 

Facing the railed-in grass-plot of its little 
court stood the house in which John Loder 
had his rooms. Taken at a first glance, the 
house had the deserted air of an office, in- 
habited only in the early hours; hut as night 
fell lights would be seen to show out, first on 
one floor, then on another — faint, human 
beacons unconsciously signalling each other. 
The rooms Loder inhabited were on the highest 
floor; and from their windows one might gaze 
philosophically on the tree tops, forgetting 
the uneven pavement and the worn railing 
that hemmed them round. In the landing 
outside the rooms his name appeared above 
his door, but the paint had been soiled by 
time and the letters for the most part re- 
duced to shadows ; so that, taken in con- 
junction with the gaunt staircase and bare 
walls, the place had a cheerless look. 

Inside, however, the effect was somewhat 
mitigated. The room on the right hand, as 
one entered the small passage that served as 
hall, was of fair size, though low-ceiled. The 
paint of the wall panelling, like the name 
above the outer door, had long ago been worn 
to a dirty and nondescript hue and the floor 
was innocent of carpet; yet in the middle of 

Begun in Harper’s Bazar No.i., Vol. XXXVIII. 


the room stood a fine old Cromwell table, and 
on the plain deal bookshelves and along the 
mantelpiece were some valuable books — po- 
litical and historical. There were no cur- 
tains on the windows, and a common reading- 
lamp with a green shade stood on a desk. It 
was the room of a man with few hobbies and 
no pleasures — who existed because he was 
alive, and worked because he must. 

Three nights after the great fog John 
Loder sat by his desk in the light of the green- 
shaded lamp. The remains of a very frugal 
supper stood on the centre-table, and in the 
grate a small and economical-looking fire was 
burning. 

Having written for close on two hours, he 
pushed back his chair and stretched his 
cramped fingers; then he yawned, rose, and 
slowly walked across the room. Reaching the 
mantelpiece, he took a pipe from the pipe- 
rack and some tobacco from the jar that stood 
behind the books. His face looked tired and 
a little worn, as is common with men who 
have worked long at an uncongenial task. 
Rolling the tobacco between his hands, he 
slowly filled the pipe, then lighted it from 
the fire with a spill of twisted paper. 

Almost at the moment that he applied the 
light, the sound of steps mounting the un- 
carpeted stairs outside caught his attention, 
and he raised his head to listen. 

Presently the steps halted and he heard a 
match struck. The stranger was evidently 
uncertain of his whereabouts. Then the steps 
moved forward again and paused. 

An expression of surprise crossed Loder’s 
face and he laid down his pipe. Then, as the 
visitor knocked, he walked quietly across the 
room and opened the door. 



TEE MASQUERADER 


143 


The passage outside was dark, and the new- 
comer drew back before the light from the 
room. 

“ Mr. Loder — ?” he began, interrogatively. 
Then all at once he laughed in embarrassed 
apology. “ Forgive me!” he said. “ The 
light rather dazzled me. I didn’t realize who 
it was.” 

Loder recognized the voice as belonging to 
his acquaintance of the fog. 

“ Oh, it’s you!” he said. “ Won’t you come 
in?” His voice was a little cold. This sud- 
den resurrection left him surprised — and 
not quite pleasantly surprised. He walked 
slowly back to the fireplace, followed by his 
guest. 

The guest seemed nervous and agitated. 
“ I must apologize for the hour of my visit,” 
he said. “My — my time is not quite my 
own.” 

Loder waved his hand. “ Whose time is his 
own?” he said. 

Chilcote, encouraged by the remark, drew 
nearer to the fire. Until this moment he had 
refrained from looking directly at his host; 
now, however, he raised his eyes and, despite 
his preparation, he recoiled unavoidably be- 
fore the extraordinary resemblance. Seen 
here, in the casual surroundings of a badly 
furnished and crudely lighted room, it was 
even more astounding than it had been in the 
mystery of the fog. 

“Forgive me!” he said, again. “It is 
physical — purely physical. I am bowled over 
against my will.” 

Loder smiled. The slight contempt that 
Chilcote had first inspired rose again, and 
with it a second feeling less easily defined. 
The man seemed so unstable, so incapable, 
yet so grotesquely suggestive of himself. 

“ The likeness is rather overwhelming,” he 
said; “but not heavy enough to sink under. 
Come nearer the fire. What brought you 
here ? Curiosity ?” There was a wooden arm- 
chair by the fireplace. He indicated it with a 
wave of the hand; then turned and took up 
his smouldering pipe. 

Chilcote, watching him furtively, obeyed the 
gesture and sat down. 

“ It is extraordinary !” he said, as if unable 
to dismiss the subject. “It — it is quite ex- 
traordinary !” 

The other glanced round. “Let’s drop it,” 
he said. “ It’s so confoundedly obvious.” 
Then his tone changed. “ Won’t you smoke ?” 
he asked. 


“ Thanks !” Chilcote began to fumble for 
his cigarettes. 

But his host forestalled him. Taking a box 
from the mantelpiece, he held it out. 

“ My one extravagance !” he said, ironically. 
“ My resources bind me to one; and I think I 
have made a wise selection. It is about the 
only vice we haven’t to pay for six times 
over.” He glanced sharply at the face so ab- 
surdly like his own, then lighting a fresh 
spill, offered his guest a light. 

Chilcote moistened his cigarette and leant 
forward. In the flare of the paper his face 
looked set and anxious, but Loder saw that 
the lips did not twitch as they had done on the 
previous occasion that he had given him a 
light, and a look of comprehension crossed 
his eyes. 

“ What will you drink ? Or rather, will 
you have a whiskey? I keep nothing else. 
Hospitality is one of the debarred luxuries.” 

Chilcote shook his head. “ I seldom drink. 
But don’t let that deter you.” 

Loder smiled. “I have one drink in the 
twenty-four hours — generally at two o’clock, 
when my night’s work is done. A solitary 
man has to look where he is going.” 

“ You work till two?” 

“ Two — or three.” 

Chilcote’s eyes wandered to the desk. “ You 
write ?” he asked. 

The other nodded curtly. 

“ Books ?” Chilcote’s tone was anxious. 

Loder laughed and the bitter note showed 
in his voice. 

“ Ho — not books,” he said. 

Chilcote leant back in his chair and passed 
his hand across his face. The strong wave of 
satisfaction that the words woke in him was 
difficult to conceal. 

“ What is your work ?” 

Loder turned aside. “You must not ask 
that,” he said, shortly. “ When a man has 
only one capacity, and the capacity has no out- 
let, he is apt to run to seed in a wrong direc- 
tion. I cultivate weeds — at abominable la- 
bor and a very small reward.” He stood with 
his back to the fire, facing his visitor ; his atti- 
tude was a curious blending of pride, defiance, 
and despondency. 

Chilcote leant forward again. “ Why speak 
of yourself like that? You are a man of in- 
telligence and education.” He spoke ques- 
tioningly, anxiously. 

“Intelligence and education!” Loder 
laughed shortly. “London is cemented with 


144 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


intelligence. And education! What is edu- 
cation? The court dress necessary to pre- 
sentation, the wig and gown necessary to the 
barrister. But do the wig and gown neces- 
sarily mean briefs ? Or the court dress royal 
favor? Education is the accessory; it is in- 
fluence that is essential. You should know 
that.” 

Chilcote moved restlessly in his seat. 
“ You talk bitterly,” he said. 

The other looked up. “ I think bitterly, 
which is worse. I am one of the unlucky 
beggars who, in the expectation of money, 
has been denied a profession — even a trade, 
to which to cling in time of shipwreck; and 
who, when disaster comes, drift out to sea. 
I warned you the other night to steer clear of 
me. I come under the head of flotsam !” 

Chilcote’s face lighted. “You came a 
cropper?” he asked. 

“ No. It was some one else who came the 
cropper. I only dealt in results.” 

“ Big results ?” 

“ A drop from a probable eighty thousand 
pounds To a certain eight hundred.” 

Chilcote glanced up. “How did you take 
it?” he asked. 

“ I ? Oh, I was twenty-five then. I had a 
good many hopes and a lot of pride ; but there 
is no place for either in a working world.” 

“ But your people ?” 

“ My last relation died with the fortune.” 

“ Your friends?” 

Loder laid down his pipe. “ I told you I 
was twenty-five,” he said, with the tinge of 
humor that sometimes crossed his manner. 
“ Doesn’t that explain things ? I had never 
taken favors in prosperity; a change of for- 
tune was not likely to alter my ways. As I 
have said, I was twenty-five.” He smiled. 
“ When I realized my position I sold all my 
belongings with the exception of a table and 
a few books — which I stored. I put on a walk- 
ing-suit and let my beard grow; then, with 
my entire capital in my pocket, I left England 
without saying good-by to any one.” 

“ For how long?” 

“ Oh, for six years. I wandered half over 
Europe and through a good part of Asia in 
the time.” 

“ And then ?” 

“ Then ? Oh, I shaved off the beard and 
came back to London!” He looked at Chil- 
cote, partly contemptuous, partly amused at 
his curiosity. 

But Chilcote sat staring in silence. The 


domination of the other’s personality and the 
futility of his achievements baffled him. 

Loder saw his bewilderment. “ Yofc won- 
der what the devil I came into the world for,” 
he said. “ I sometimes wonder the same 
myself.” 

At his words a change passed over Chil- 
cote. He half rose, then dropped back into 
his seat. 

“You have no friends?” he said. “Your 
life is worth nothing to you?” 

Loder raised his head. “ I thought I had 
conveyed that impression.” 

“ You are an absolutely free man.” 

“No man is free who works for his bread. 
If things had been different I might have 
been in such shoes as yours, sauntering in 
legislative byways ; my hopes turned that way 
once. But hopes, like more substantial things, 
belong to the past — ” He stopped abruptly 
and looked at his companion. 

The change in Chilcote had become more 
acute; he sat fingering his cigarette, his 
brows drawn down, his lips set nervously in a 
conflict of emotions. For a space he stayed 
very still, avoiding Loder’s eyes; then, as if 
decision had suddenly come to him, he turned 
and met his gaze. 

“ How if there was a future,” he said, “ as 
well as a past ?” 

CHAPTEE Y 

F OE the space of a minute there was si- 
lence in the room, then outside in the 
still night three clocks simultaneously 
chimed eleven and their announcement was 
taken up and echoed by half a dozen others, 
loud and faint, hoarse and resonant; for all 
through the hours of darkness the neighbor- 
hood of Fleet Street is alive with chimes. 

Chilcote, startled by the jangle, rose from 
his seat; then, as if driven by an uncontrolla- 
ble impulse, he spoke again. 

“ You probably think I am mad — ” he 
began. 

Loder took his pipe out of his mouth. “ I 
am not so presumptuous,” he said, quietly. 

For a space the other eyed him silently, as 
if trying to gauge his thoughts; then once 
more he broke into speech. 

“ Look here,” he said. “ I came to-night to 
make a proposition. When I have made it 
you’ll first of all jeer at it — as I jeered, when 
I made it to myself; then you’ll see its pos- 
sibilities — as I did ; then ” — he paused and 
glanced round the room nervously — “ then 


THE MASQUERADER 


145 



you’ll accept it — as I did. 


In the uneasy haste of his 
speech his words broke off 
almost unintelligibly. 

Involuntarily Loder lift- 
ed his head to retort, but 
Chilcote put up his hand. 

Ilis face was set with 
the obstinate determina- 
tion that weak men some- 
times exhibit. 

“ Before I begin, I want 
to say that I am not drunk 
— that I am neither mad 
nor drunk.” He looked 
fully at his companion 
with his restless glance. 

“ I am quite sane — quite 
reasonable.” 

Again Loder essayed to 
speak, but again he put up 
his hand. 

“ Ho. Hear me out. 

You told me something of 
your story. I’ll tell you 
something of mine. You’ll 
be the first person, man or 
woman, that I have con- 
fided in for ten years. 

“You say you have 

been treated shabbily. I 
have treated myself shabbi- 
ly — which is harder to 
reconcile. I had every 

chance — and I chucked “ to 

every chance away.” 

There was a strained pause, then again 
Loder lifted his head. 

“ Opium ?” he said, very quietly. 

Chilcote wheeled round with a scared ges- 
ture. “ LIow did you know that ?” he asked, 
sharply. 

The other smiled. “ It wasn’t guessing — it 
wasn’t even deduction. You told me, or as 
good as told me, in the fog — when we talked 
of Lexington. You were unstrung that night, 
and I — Well, perhaps one gets over-obser- 
vant from living alone.” He smiled again. 

Chilcote collapsed into his former seat and 
passed his handkerchief across his forehead. 

Loder watched him for a space; then he 
spoke. “Why don’t you pull up?” he said. 
“ You are a young man still. Why don’t you 
drop the thing before it gets too late?” His 
face was unsympathetic, and below the ques- 
tion in his voice lay a note of hardness. 

VOL. XXXVIII. — 10. 


THE CAREER OF .JOHN CHILCOTE.” 

Chilcote returned his glance. The sugges- 
tion of reproof had accentuated his pallor. 
Under his excitement he looked ill and worn. 

“You might talk till Doomsday, but every 
word would be wasted,” he said, irritably. 
“ I’m past praying for, by something like six 
years.” 

“ Then why come here ?” Loder was pulling 
hard on his pipe. “ I’m not a dealer in sym- 
pathy.” 

“ I don’t require sympathy.” Chilcote rose 
again. He was still agitated, but the agita- 
tion was quieter. “ I want a much more ex- 
pensive thing than sympathy — and I am will- 
ing to pay for it.” 

The other turned and looked at him. “I 
have no possession in the world that would be 
worth a fiver to you,” he said, coldly. “ You’re 
either under a delusion or you’re wasting my 
time.” 


140 


HARPERS BAZAR 


Chilcote laughed nervously. “Wait!” he 
said. “ Wait! I only ask you to wait. First 
let me sketch you my position, — it won’t take 
many words. 

“ My grandfather was a Chilcote of West- 
moreland; he was one of the first of his day 
and his class to recognize that there was a 
future in trade, so, breaking his own little 
twig from the family tree, he went south to 
Wark and entered a ship-owning firm. In 
thirty years’ time he died, the owner of one of 
the biggest trades in England, having married 
the daughter of his chief. My father 
was twenty-four and still at Oxford when he 
inherited. Almost his first act was to reverse 
my grandfather’s early move, by going north 
and piecing together the family friendship. 
He married his ^rst cousin ; and then, with 
the Chilcote prestige revived and the shipping 
money to back it, he entered on his ambition, 
which was to represent East Wark in the Con- 
servative interest. It was a big fight, but he 
won it — as much by personal influence as by 
any other. He was an aristocrat, but he was a 
keen business man as well. The combination 
carries weight with your lower classes. He 
never did much in the House, but he was a 
power to his party in Wark. They still use 
his name there to conjure with.” 

Loder leant forward interestedly. 

“ Robert Chilcote ?” he said. “ I have heard 
of him. One of those fine, unostentatious 
figures — strong in action, a little narrow in 
outlook, perhaps, but essential to a country’s 
staying power. You have evSry reason to be 
proud of your father.” 

Chilcote laughed suddenly. “ How easily 
we sum up, when a matter is impersonal ! My 
father may have been a fine figure, but he 
shouldn’t have left me to climb to his ped- 
estal.” 

Loder ’s eyes questioned. In his newly 
awakened interest he had let his pipe go 
out. 

“ Don’t you grasp my meaning ?” Chilcote 
went on. “ My father died and I was elected 
for East Wark. You may say that if I had 
no real inclination for the position I could 
have kicked. But I tell you I couldn’t. 
Every local interest, political and commercial, 
hung upon the candidate being a Chilcote. 
I did what eight men out of ten would have 
done. I yielded to pressure.” 

“It was a fine opening!” The words es- 
caped Loder. 

“ Most prisons have wide gates !” Chilcote 


laughed again unpleasantly. “ That was six 
years ago. I had started on the opium tack 
four years earlier, but up to my father’s death 
I had it under my thumb — or believed I had; 
and in the realization of my new responsibili- 
ties and the excitement of the political fight I 
almost put it aside. For several months after 
I entered Parliament I worked. I believe I 
made one speech that marked me as a coming 
man.” He laughed derisively. “ I even mar- 
ried — ” 

“ Married ?” 

“ Yes. A girl of nineteen — the ward of a 
great statesman. It was a brilliant marriage 
— politically as well as socially. But it didn’t 
work. I was born without the capacity for 
love. First the social life palled on me; then 
my work grew irksome. There was only one 
factor to make life endurable — opium. Be- 
fore six months were out 1 had fully admitted 
this.” 

“ But your wife ?” 

“ Oh, my wife knew nothing — knows noth- 
ing. It is the political business, the beastly 
routine of the political life, that is wearing 
me out.” He stopped nervously, then hurried 
on again. “ I tell you it’s hell to see the same 
faces, to sit in the same seat day in, day out, 
knowing all the time that you must hold your- 
self in hand, must keep your grip on the 
reins — ” 

“ It is always possible to apply for the Chil- 
tern Hundreds.” 

“To retire? Possible to retire?” Chilcote 
broke into a loud, sarcastic laugh. “ You 
don’t know what the local pressure of a place 
like Wark stands for. Twenty times I have 
been within an ace of chucking the whole 
thing. Once last year I wrote privately to 
Yale, one of our big men there, and hinted 
that my health was bad. Two hours after he 
had read my letter he was in my study. Had 
I been in Greenland the result would have 
been the same. Ho. Resignation is a mean- 
ingless word to a man like me.” 

Loder looked down. “ I see,” he said, 
slowly, “ I see.” 

“ Then you see everything — the difficulty, 
the isolation of the position. Five years ago 
— three — even two years ago — I was able to 
endure it; now it gets more unbearable with 
every month. The day is bound to come when 
— when” — he paused, hesitating nervously — 
“ when it will be physically impossible for me 
to be at my post.” 

Loder remained silent. 


THE MASQUERADER 


147 


“ Physically impossible,” Chilcote repeated, 
excitedly. “ Until lately I was able to calcu- 
late — to count upon myself to some extent; 
but yesterday 1 received a shock — yesterday I 
discovered that — that ” — again he hesitated 
painfully — “ that I have passed the stage when 
one may calculate.” 

The situation was growing more embarras- 
sing. To hide its awkwardness, Loder moved 
back to the grate and rebuilt the fire, which 
had fallen low. 

Chilcote, still excited by his unusual vehe- 
mence, followed him, taking up a position 
by the mantelpiece. 

“ Well?” he said, looking down. 

Very slowly Loder rose from his task. 
“ Well?” he reiterated. 

“ Have you nothing to say ?” 

“ Nothing, except that your story is unique 
and that I suppose I am flattered by your 
confidence.” His voice was intentionally 
brusque. 

Chilcote paid no attention to the voice. 
Taking a step forward, he laid his fingers on 
the lapel of Loder’s coat. 

“ I have passed the stage where I can count 
upon myself,” he said, “ and I want to count 
upon somebody else. I want to keep my 
place in the world’s eyes and yet be free — ” 

Loder drew back involuntarily, contempt 
struggling with bewilderment in his expres- 
sion. 

Chilcote lifted his head. “ By an extraor- 
dinary chance,” he said, “you can do for me 
what no other man in creation could do. It 
was suggested to me unconsciously by the 
story of a book — a book in which men change 
identities. I saw nothing in it at the time, 
but this morning, as I lay in bed, sick with 
yesterday’s fiasco, it came back to me — it 
rushed over my mind in an inspiration. It 
will save me — and make you. I’m not insult- 
ing you, though you’d like to think so.” 

Without remark Loder freed himself from 
the other’s touch and walked back to his desk. 
Ilis anger, his pride, and, against his will, 
his excitement, were all aroused. 

He sat down, leant his elbows on the desk, 
and took his face between his hands. The 
man behind him undoubtedly talked madness ; 
but after five years of dreary sanity mad- 
ness had a fascination. Against all reason 
it stirred and roused him. For one instant 
his pride and his anger faltered before it, then 
common sense flowed back again and adjusted 
the balance. 


“ You propose,” he said, slowly, “ that for 
a consideration of money I should trade 
on the likeness between us — and become 
your dummy, when you are otherwise en- 
gaged ?” 

Chilcote colored. “ You are unpleasantly 
blunt,” he said. 

“ But I have caught your meaning ?” 

“ In the rough, yes.” 

Loder nodded curtly. “ Then take my ad- 
vice and go home,” he said. “ You’re un- 
hinged.” 

The other returned his glance, and as their 
eyes met, Loder was reluctantly compelled to 
admit that though the face was disturbed, it 
had no traces of insanity. 

“ I make you a proposal,” Chilcote repeated, 
nervously but with distinctness. “ Do you 
accept ?” 

For an instant Loder was at a loss to find 
a reply sufficiently final. Chilcote broke in 
upon the pause. 

“ After all,” he urged, a what I ask of you 
is a simple thing. Merely to carry through 
my routine duties for a week or two occasion- 
ally when I find my endurance giving way — 
when a respite becomes essential. The work 
would be nothing to a man in your state of 
mind, the pay anything you like to name.” 
In his eagerness he had followed Loder to the 
desk. “ Won’t you give me an answer? I 
told you I am neither mad nor drunk.” 

Loder pushed back the scattered papers 
that lay under his arm. 

“ Only a lunatic would propose such a 
scheme,” he said, brusquely and without feel- 
ing. 

“ Why?” 

The other’s lips parted for a quick retort; 
then in a surprising way the retort seemed 
to fail him. “ Oh, because the thing isn’t 
feasible, isn’t practicable from any point of 
view.” 

Chilcote stepped closer. “ Why ?” he in- 
sisted. 

“ Because it couldn’t work, man ! Couldn’t 
hold for a dozen hours.” 

Chilcote put out his hand and touched his 
arm. “ But why ?” he urged. “ Why ? Give 
me one unanswerable reason.” 

Loder shook off the hand and laughed, but 
below his laugh lay a suggestion of the other’s 
excitement. Again the scene stirred him 
against his sounder judgment; though his 
reply, when it came, was firm enough. 

“ As for reasons — ” he said. “ There are a 


148 


HARPERS BAZAR 


hundred, if I had time to name them. Take 
it, for the sake of supposition, that I were 
to accept your offer. I should take my place 
in your house at — let us say at dinner-time. 
Your man gets me into your evening clothes, 
and there, at the very start, you have the first 
suspicion set up. He has probably known you 
for years — known you until every turn of 
your appearance, voice, and manner is far 
more familiar to him than it is to you. There 
are no eyes like a servant’s.” 

“ I have thought of that. My servant and 
my secretary can both be changed. I will do 
the thing thoroughly.” 

Loder glanced at him in surprise. The 
madness had more method than he had be- 
lieved. Then, as he still looked, a fresh idea 
struck him, and he laughed. 

“You have entirely forgotten one thing,” 
he said. “ You can hardly dismiss your 
wife.” 

“ My wife doesn’t count.” 

Again Loder laughed. “ I’m afraid I 
scarcely agree. The complications would be 
slightly — slightly — ” He paused. 

Chilcote’s latent irritability broke out sud- 
denly. “ Look here,” he said, “ this isn’t a 
chaffing matter. It may be moonshine to you, 
but it’s reality to me.” 

Again Loder took his face between his 
hands. 

“ Don’t ridicule the idea. I’m in dead 
earnest.” 

Loder said nothing. 

“ Think — think it over before you refuse.” 

For a moment Loder remained motionless; 
then he rose suddenly, pushing back his chair. 

“ Tush, man ! You don’t know what you 
say. The fact of your being married bars it. 
Can’t you see that?” 

Again Chilcote caught his arm. 

“ You misunderstand,” he said. “ You mis- 
take the position. I tell you my wife and I 
are nothing to each other. She goes her way; 
I go mine. We have our own friends, our 
own rooms. Marriage, actual marriage, 
doesn’t enter the question. We meet occa- 
sionally at meals, and at other people’s 
houses; sometimes we go out together for the 
sake of appearances; beyond that, nothing. 
If you take up my life, nobody in it will 
trouble you less than Eve — I can promise 
that.” He laughed unsteadily. 

Loder’s face remained unmoved. 

“ Even granting that,” he said, “ the thing 
is still impossible.” 


“Why?” 

“ There is the House. The position there 
would be untenable. A man is known there 
as he is known in his own club.” He drew 
away from Chilcote’s touch. 

“Very possibly! Very possibly!” Chilcote 
laughed quickly and excitedly. “ But what 
club is without its eccentric member? I am 
glad you spoke of that. I am glad you raised 
that point. It was a long time ago that I hit 
upon a reputation for moods as a shield for — 
for other things, and the more useful it has 
become, the more I have let it grow. I tell you 
you might go down to the House to-morrow 
and spend the whole day without speaking to, 
even nodding to, a single man, and as long 
as you were me to outward appearances no 
one would raise an eyebrow. In the same 
way you might vote in my place, ask a ques- 
tion, make a speech if you wanted to — ” 

At the word speech Loder turned involun- 
tarily. For a fleeting second the coldness of 
his manner dropped and his face changed. 

Chilcote, with his nervous quickness of per- 
ception, saw the alteration, and a new look 
crossed his own face. 

“Why not?” he said, quickly. “You once 
had ambitions in that direction. Why not re- 
new the ambitions ?” 

“ And drop back from the mountains into 
the gutter?” Loder smiled and slowly shook 
his head. 

“ Better to live for one day than to exist 
for a hundred!” Chilcote’s voice- trembled 
with anxiety. For the third time he extended 
his hand and touched the other. 

This time Loder did not shake off the de- 
taining hand; he scarcely seemed to feel its 
pressure. 

“ Look here !” Chilcote’s fingers tightened. 
“ A little while ago you talked of influence. 
Here you can step into a position built by 
influence. You might do all you once hoped 
to do—” 

Loder suddenly lifted his head. “ Absurd !” 
he said. “ Absurd ! Such a scheme was never 
carried through.” 

“ Precisely why it will succeed. People 
never suspect until they have a precedent. 
Will you consider it? At least consider it. 
Bemember, if there is a risk, it is I who am 
running it. On your own showing, you have 
no position to jeopardize.” 

The other laughed curtly. 

“ Before I go to-night will you promise me 
to consider it?” 



Drawn by CLARENCE F. UNDERWOOD. 


MOST PRISONS HAVE WIDE GATES!” 


150 


HARPER'S BAZAR 


“ No.” 

“ Then you will send me your decision by 
wire to-morrow. I won’t take your answer 
now.” 

Loder freed his arm abruptly. “ Why not ?” 
he asked. 

Chilcote smiled nervously. “ Because I 
know men — and men’s temptations. We are 
all very strong* till the quick is touched; then 
we all wince. It’s opium with one man, am- 
bitions with another. In each case it’s only 
a matter of sooner or later.” He laughed in 
his satirical, unstrung way, and held out his 
hand. “ You have my address,” he said. 
“ Au revoir !” 

Loder pressed the hand - and dropped it. 
“ Good-by!” he said, meaningly. Then he 
crossed the room quietly and held the door 
open. “ Good-by !” he said again as the other 
passed him. 

As he crossed the threshold, Chilcote paused. 
“ Au revoir !” he corrected, with emphasis. 

Until the last echo of his visitor’s steps had 
died away Loder stood with his hand on the 
door ; then closing it quietly, he turned and 
looked round the room. For a considerable 
space he stood there as if weighing the 
merits of each object; then very slowly he 
moved to one of the bookshelves, drew out 
May’s Parliamentary Practice , and carrying 
it to the desk, readjusted the lamp. 

CHAPTEB VI 

ALL the next day Chilcote moved in a 
h\ fever of excitement, Hot with hope 
one moment, cold with fear the next, 
he rushed with restless energy into every task 
that presented itself — -only to drop it as 
speedily. Twice during the morning he drove 
to the entrance of Clifford’s Inn, but each 
time his courage failed him and he returned 
to Grosvenor Square — to learn that the ex- 
pected message from Loder had not come. 

It was a wearing condition of mind ; but at 
worst it was scarcely more than an exaggera- 
tion of what his state had been for months, 
and made but little obvious difference in his 
bearing or manner. 

In the afternoon he took his place in the 
House, but though it was his first appearance 
since his failure of two days ago, he drew but 
small personal notice. When he chose, his 
manner could repel advances with extreme 
effect, and of late men had been prone to draw 
away from him. 


In one of the lobbies he encountered Fraide 
surrounded by a group of friends. With his 
usual furtive haste he would have passed on; 
but moving away from his party, the old man 
accosted him. He was always courteously 
particular in his treatment of Chilcote, as the 
husband of his ward and godchild. 

“ Better, Chilcote ?” he said, holding out his 
hand. 

At the sound of the low, rather formal 
tones, so characteristic of the old statesman, 
a hundred memories rose to Chilcote’s mind, a 
hundred hours, distasteful in the living and 
unbearable in the recollection ; and with them 
the new flash of hope, the new possibility of 
freedom. In a sudden rush of confidence he 
turned to his leader. 

“ I believe I’ve found a remedy for my 
nerves,” he said. “ I — I believe I’m going to 
be a new man.” He laughed with a touch of 
excitement. 

Fraide pressed his fingers kindly. “ That is 
right!” he said. “ That is right! I called at 
Grosvenor Square this morning, but Eve told 
me your illness of the other day was not 
serious. She was very busy this morning — 
she could only spare me a quarter of an hour. 
She is indefatigable over the social side of 
your prospects, Chilcote. You owe her a 
large debt. A popular wife means a great 
deal to a politician.” 

The steady eyes of his companion disturbed 
Chilcote. He drew away his hand. 

“ Eve is unique !” he said, vaguely. 

Fraide smiled. “ That is right!” he said, 
again. “ Admiration is too largely excluded 
from modern marriages.” And with a cour- 
teous excuse he rejoined his friends. 

It was dinner-time before Chilcote could 
desert the House, but the moment departure 
was possible he hurried to Grosvenor Square. 

As he entered the house the hall was empty. 
He swore irritably under his breath and press- 
ed the nearest bell. Since his momentary ex- 
altation in Fraide’s presence his spirits had 
steadily fallen, until now they hung at the 
lowest ebb. 

As he waited in unconcealed impatience for 
an answer to his summons he caught sight of 
his man Allsopp at the head of the stairs. 

“ Come here !” he called, pleased to find 
some one upon whom to vent his irritation. 
“ Has that wire come for me ?” 

“ No, sir. I inquired five minutes back.” 

“ Inquire again.” 

“ Yes, sir.” Allsopp disappeared. 


THE MASQUERADER 


151 


A second after his disappearance the bell of 
the hall door whizzed loudly. 

Chilcote started. All sudden sounds, like 
all strong lights, affected him. He half moved 
to the door, then stopped himself with a short 
exclamation. At the same instant Allsopp re- 
appeared. 

Chilcote turned on him excitedly. 

“ What the devil’s the meaning of this ?” he 
said. “ A battery of servants in the house 
and nobody to open the hall door.” 

Allsopp looked embarrassed. “ Crapham is 
coming directly, sir. He only left the hall to 
ask Jeffries — ” 

Chilcote turned. “ Confound Crapham !” he 
exclaimed. “ Go and open the door yourself.” 

Allsopp hesitated, his dignity struggling 
with his obedience. As he waited the bell 
sounded again. 

“ Did you hear me ?” Chilcote said. 

“ Yes, sir.” Allsopp crossed the hall. 

As the door was opened Chilcote passed his 
handkerchief from one hand to the other in 
the tension of hope and fear; then, as the 
sound of his own name in the shrill tones of a 
telegraph boy reached his ears, he let the 
handkerchief drop to the ground. 

Allsopp took the yellow envelope and car- 
ried it to his master. 

“ A telegram, sir,” he said. “ And the boy 
wishes to know if there is an answer.” Pick- 
ing up Chilcote’s handkerchief, he turned 
aside with elaborate dignity. 

Chilcote’s hands were so unsteady that he 
could scarcely insert his finger under the flap 
of the envelope. Tearing off a corner, he 
wrenched the covering apart and smoothed 
out the flimsy pink paper. 

The message was very simple, consisting of 
but seven words : “ Shall expect you at eleven 
to-night. — Loder.” 

He read it twice or three times, then he 
looked up. “No answer!” he said, mechani- 
cally; and to his own ears the relief in his 
voice sounded harsh and unnatural. 

Exactly as the clocks chimed eleven Chil- 
cote mounted the stairs to Loder’s rooms. But 
this time there was more of haste than of un- 
certainty in his steps, and, reaching the land- 
ing, he crossed it in a couple of strides and 
knocked feverishly on the door. 

It opened at once and Loder stood before 
him. 

The occasion was peculiar. For a moment 
neither spoke; each involuntarily looked" at 


the other with new eyes and under changed 
conditions. Each had assumed a fresh stand- 
point in the other’s thought. The passing 
astonishment, the half-impersonal curiosity 
that had previously tinged their relationship, 
was cast aside, never to be reassumed. In 
each, the other saw himself — and something 
more. 

As usual, Loder was the first to recover 
himself. 

“ I was expecting you,” he said. “ Won’t 
you come in?” 

The words were almost the same as his 
words of the night before, but his voice had 
a different ring; just as his face, when he 
drew back into the room, had a different ex- 
pression, — a suggestion of decision and 
energy that had been lacking before. Chil- 
cote caught the difference as he crossed the 
threshold, and for a bare second a flicker of 
something like jealousy touched him. But the 
sensation was fleeting. 

“ I have to thank you,” he said, holding out 
his hand. He was too well bred to show by a 
hint that he understood the drop in the other’s 
principles. But Loder broke down the artifice. 

“ Let’s be straight with each other, since 
everybody else has to be deceived,” he said, 
taking the other’s hand. “ You have nothing 
to thank me for, and you know it. It’s a 
touch of the old Adam. You tempted me, and 
I fell.” He laughed, but below the laugh ran 
a note of something like triumph — the curious 
triumph of a man who has known the tyranny 
of strength and suddenly realized the free- 
dom of a weakness. 

“ You fully realize the thing you have pro- 
posed ?” he added, in a different tone. “ It’s 
not too late to retract, even now.” 

Chilcote opened his lips, paused, then laugh- 
ed in imitation of his companion; but the 
laugh sounded forced. 

“ My dear fellow,” he said at last, “ I never 
retract.” 

“ Never?” 

“ No.” 

“ Then the bargain’s sealed.” 

Loder walked slowly across the room, and 
taking up his position by the mantelpiece, 
looked at his companion. The similarity be- 
tween them as they faced each other seemed 
abnormal, defying even the closest scrutiny. 
And yet, so mysterious is Nature even in her 
lapses, they were subtly, indefinably different. 
Chilcote was Loder deprived of one essential; 
Loder, Chilcote with that essential bestowed. 


152 


HARPER'S BAZAR 


The difference lay neither in feature, in color- 
ing, nor in height, but in that baffling, illusive 
inner illumination that some call individuali- 
ty, and others soul. 

Something of this idea, misted and tangled 
by nervous imagination, crossed Chilcote’s 
mind in that moment of scrutiny, but he 
shrank from it apprehensively. 

“ I — I came to discuss details,” he said* 
quickly, crossing the space that divided him 
from his host. “ Shall we — ? Are you — ?” 
He paused uneasily. 

“ I’m entirely in your hands.” Loder spoke 
with abrupt decision. Moving to the table, 
he indicated a chair, and drew another for- 
ward for himself. 

Both men sat down. 

Chilcote leant forward, resting his elbows 
on the table. “ There will be several things 
to consider — ” he began, nervously, looking 
across at the other. 

“ Quite so.” Loder glanced back apprecia- 
tively. “ I thought about those things the 
better part of last night. To begin with, T 
must study your handwriting. I guarantee 
to get it right, but it will take a month.” 

“ A month !” 

“ Well, perhaps three weeks. We mustn’t 
make a mess of things.” 

Chilcote shifted his position. 

“ Three weeks !” he repeated. “ Couldn’t 
yo 11 — •” 

“No; I couldn’t.” Loder spoke authori- 
tatively. “ I might never want to put pen 
to paper, but, on the other hand, I might 
have to sign a check one day.” He laughed. 
“ Have you ever thought of that ? That I 
might have to, or want to, sign a check?” 

“No. I confess that escaped me.” 

“ You risk your fortune that you may keep 
the place it bought for you?” Loder laughed 
again. “ How do you know that I am not a 
blackguard?” he added. “How do you know 
that I won’t clear out one day and leave you 
high and dry? What is to prevent John Chil- 
cote from realizing forty or fifty thousand 
pounds and then making himself scarce ?” 

“You won’t do that,” Chilcote said, with 
unusual decision. “ I told you your weakness 
last night ; and it wasn’t money. Money isn’t 
the rock you’ll split over.” 

“ Then you think I’ll split upon some rock ? 
But that’s beyond the question. To get to 
business again. You’ll risk my studying your 
signature ?” 

Chilcote nodded. 


“Eight! Now item two.” Loder counted 
on his fingers. “ I must know the names and 
faces of your men friends as far as I can. 
Your women friends don’t count. While I’m 
you, you will be adamant.” He laughed 
again pleasantly. “ But the men are essen- 
tial — the backbone of the whole thing.” 

“ I have no men friends. I don’t trust the 
idea of friendship.” 

“ Acquaintances, then.” 

Chilcote looked up sharply. “ I think we 
score there,” he said. “ I have a reputation 
for absent-mindedness that will carry you 
anywhere. They tell me I can look through 
the most substantial man in the House as if 
he were gossamer, though I may have lunched 
with him the same day.” 

Loder smiled. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. 
“ Fate must have been constructing this be- 
fore either of us was born. It dovetails 
ridiculously. But I must know your col- 
leagues — even if it’s only to cut them. You’ll 
have to take me to the House.” 

“ Impossible !” 

“ Not at all.” Again the tone of authority 
fell to Loder. “ I can pull my hat over 
my eyes and turn up my coat collar, — no- 
body will notice me. We can choose the fall 
of the afternoon. I promise you ’twill be all 
right.” 

“ Suppose the likeness should leak out ? 
It’s a risk.” 

Loder laughed confidently. “Tush, man! 
Bisk is the salt of life. I must see you at 
your post, and I must see the men you work 
with.” He rose, walked across the room, and 
took his pipe from the rack. “ When I go in 
for a thing, I like to go in over head and 
ears,” he added, as he opened his tobacco-jar. 

His pipe filled, he resumed his seat, resting 
his elbows on the table in unconscious imita- 
tion of Chilcote. 

“ Grot a match ?” he said, laconically, hold- 
ing out his hand. 

In response Chilcote drew his match-box 
from his pocket and struck a light. As their 
hands touched, an exclamation escaped him. 

“ By Jove!” he said, with a fretful mixture 
of disappointment and surprise. “ I hadn’t 
noticed that!” His eyes were fixed in an- 
noyed interest on Loder’s extended hand. 

Loder, following his glance, smiled. “ Odd 
that we should both have overlooked it! It 
clean escaped my mind. It’s rather an ugly 
scar.” He lifted his hand till the light fell 
more fully on it. Above the second joint of 


THE MASQUERADER 


153 


the third finger ran a jagged furrow, the re- 
minder of a wound that had once laid bare the 
bone. 

Chilcote leant forward. “ How did you 
come by it ?” he asked. 

The other shrugged his shoulders. “ Oh, 
that’s ancient history.” 

“ The results are present-day enough. It’s 
very awkward! Very annoying!” Chilcote’s 
spirits, at all times overeasily played upon, 
were damped by this obstacle. 

Loder, still looking at his hand, didn’t 
seem to hear. “ There’s only one thing to be 
done,” he said. “ Each wear two rings on the 
third finger of the left hand. Two rings 
ought to cover it.” lie made a speculative 
measurement with the stem of his pipe. 

Chilcote still looked irritable and disturbed. 
“ I detest rings. I never wear rings.” 

Loder raised his eyes calmly. “ Neither do 
I,” he said. “ But there’s no reason for 
bigotry.” 

But Chilcote’s irritability was started. He 
pushed back his chair. “ I don’t like the 
idea,” he said. 

The other eyed him amusedly. “ What a 
queer beggar you are!” he said. “ You waive 
the danger of a man signing your checks, and 
shy at wearing a piece of jewelry. I’ll have a 
fair share of individuality to study.” 

Chilcote moved restlessly. “ Everybody 
knows I detest jewelry.” 

“ Everybody knows you are capricious. It’s 
got to be the rings or nothing, so far as I 
make out.” 

Chilcote again altered his position, avoid- 
ing the other’s eyes. At last, after a struggle 
with himself, he looked up. 

“ I suppose you’re right !” he said. “ Have 
it your own way.” It was the first small, 
tangible concession to the stronger will. 

Loder took his victory quietly. “ Good !” 
he said. “ Then it’s all straight sailing ?” 

“ Except for the matter of the — the re- 
muneration — ” Chilcote hazarded the word 
uncertainly. 


There was a faint pause, then Loder laugh- 
ed brusquely. “ My pay ?” 

The other was embarrassed. “ I didn’t want 
to put it quite like that.” 

“ But that was what you thought. Why are 
you never honest — even with yourself?” 

Chilcote drew his chair closer to the table. 
Lie did not attend to the other’s remark, but 
his fingers strayed to his waistcoat pocket 
and fumbled there. 

Loder saw the gesture. “ Look here,” he 
said, “you are overtaxing yourself. The af- 
fair of the pay isn’t pressing; we’ll shelve 
it to another night. You look tired out.” 

Chilcote lifted his eyes with a relieved 
glance. “ Thanks ! I do feel a bit fagged. 
If I may. I’ll have that whiskey that I refused 
last night.” 

“ Why, certainly.” Loder rose at once and 
crossed to a cupboard in the wall. In silence 
he brought out whiskey, glasses, and a siphon 
of soda-water. “ Say when !” he said, lifting 
the whiskey. 

“ Now. And I’ll have plain water instead 
of soda, if it’s all the same.” 

“ Oh, quite.” Loder recrossed the room. 
Instantly his back was turned, Chilcote drew 
a couple of tabloids from his pocket and 
dropped them into his glass. As the other 
came slowly back he laughed nervously. 

“ Thanks ! See to your own drink now ; I 
can manage this.” He took the jug uncere- 
moniously, and carefully guarding his glass 
from the light, poured in the water with ex- 
cited haste. 

“ What shall we drink to ?” he said. 

Loder methodically mixed his own drink 
and lifted the glass. “ Oh, to the career of 
J ohn Chilcote !” he answered. 

Eor an instant the other hesitated. There 
was something prophetic in the sound of the 
toast. But he shook the feeling off and held 
up his glass. 

“To the career of John Chilcote!” he sa'd 
with another unsteady laugh. 

[to be continued.] 


V 




154 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


Wfms 



*T5Y O-NT^ 


“ T AM going to take a party of children 
out on a bird-walk this coming Wednes- 
* day, and think you may enjoy going 
with us,” read a note in my morning mail 
one day early last March. 

I had. never heard of a bird-walk before, 
but the name signed at the bottom of the 
little missive — Eliza- 
beth Putnam Moore 
— gave me at once an 
inkling as to the na- 
ture of the expedi- 
tion. Miss Moore is 
one of those ardent 
lovers and students 
of the feathered 
tribes who are not 
content to know of 
them through books 
or the stuffed speci- 
mens in museums, 
but who tramp out 
in the country, track- 
ing them to their 
homes — learning 
from the birds them- 
selves things which 
no books contain. 

Stealing into their 
haunts dressed in 
brown or green to 
closely resemble her 
surroundings, she 
will sit motionless 
for hours, winning the confidence of even the 
most timid birds, so that they live their lives 
forgetful of her presence. She grows to un- 
derstand their languages — their songs and 
nesting-calls. Their work and plays, their 
loves and jealousies, the most guarded secrets 
of their home-building, housekeeping, and the 
raising of their children, are revealed to her. 
And in over seven years of untiring pursuit 
and observation she has acquired an insight 
into bird nature such as few possess. 


From this knowledge of the methods of its 
originator I drew my deductions of what a 
bird -walk must be; my first impression 
being confirmed when, upon perusing the 
note more carefully, I found the admonition, 
“ Bring your opera-glasses with you,” among 
the bits of wisdom therein. 

Still, it was with 
no true conception 
of the treat in store 
that on Wednesday 
morning, duly 
equipped with the 
opera - glasses, I ar- 
rived at a certain 
country house desig- 
nated in the note, 
and found Miss 
Moore awaiting me, 
surrounded by fifteen 
bright-faced boys and 
girls belonging to 
that fortunate class 
of children whose 
parents can afford to 
let them receive in- 
struction in new and 
entertaining forms. 
Besides a pair of 
field or opera glasses 
apiece, the party was 
provided with a note- 
book, in which to set 
down the name of 
every kind of bird seen and studied on 
that day’s expedition. 

As we set off, uncertainty was mingled 
with my pleasurable anticipations; but the 
children were confident in their eagerness. 
They had been on two bird-walks already. 
This walk was one of a series, I soon learned, 
and the young people formed a class, regular- 
ly organized to go forth once a week and 
learn all they could of their little fellow be- 
ings in feathers, in this most novel and 



- THE FIELD SPARROW^ HOME. 




SULU AND ITS SULTANA 


267 


difficulties, of the aged and destitute lady, 
had the little slates brought up that I might 
see there were still 811 pennies to her credit. 
I inquired of some of the boys how much 811 
pennies put into dollars and cents would be, 
but all were so visibly embarrassed that I, re- 
membering my own mathematically tortured 
childhood, desisted before the schoolmaster 
could hear. 

Half a mile outside the walled garrison of 
Sulu, to the west, is 
a strong outpost built 
of stone, and still 
farther out yet an- 
other. These outposts 
are always occupied by 
American soldiers, not 
originally because of 
any expected trouble 
with the Moros, but 
because if our men 
did not occupy them 
the Moros would, thus 
giving them an almost 
invincible stronghold 
against us in case of 
some sudden fanatical 
uprising. Among the 
Moros, as in Granada, 

“ Love laughs with a 
grip on the knife,” and 
preparedness is as es- 
sential as good govern- 
ment. 

Hear these outposts 
might he seen some 
very tine kitchen gar- 
dens, kept by the 
frugal Celestial, the 
Chinaman of Sulu be- 
ing much more en- 
ergetic commercially 
than the Moro. It is 
from the “ Chino ” the American housewife 
buys her fresh fruits and vegetables, while the 
Moros bring in fish, and the Filipinos chickens 
and game, thus insuring a well-stocked larder, 
independent of the supply-ships from Manila. 

In fact so delightful a place is Sulu, that if 
fever were not prevalent there at some seasons 
of the year, it would be a veritable Paradise; 
but even the sanitary measures taken by the 
great Spanish General Arolas have not quite 
stamped out that scourge to white men which 
long made Sulu the most undesirable military 
station in the islands. 


Every one in the Philippines knows the 
story of Governor Arolas and of how at the 
close of a brief republican administration in 
Spain he was practically banished to Sulu, 
there to die by fever or be killed by the Moros. 
But Arolas, instead of settling down into an 
inactive life, awaiting what seemed the inevi- 
table, busied himself in building up the town, 
fortifying it strongly, and at the same time 
making it more beautiful by laying it out in 
broad streets and 
avenues, interspersed 
at regular intervals 
with flowering squares 
and plazas. By drain- 
ing these streets well, 
building water-works, 
and establishing a 
fine new market, he 
changed its reputation 
as a fever hole and 
made Sulu one of the 
most desirable stations 
in the south. 

Socially, we found 
Sulu delightful, and 
in our few days there 
had pleasant dinners, 
both on and off the 
ship, a little dance at 
the club-house, and a 
tennis tea. The wom- 
en all wore pretty 
frocks, their houses 
were charming, and 
their servants as well 
trained as if they 
were living anywhere 
but on a dot of an 
island in the Sulu Sea. 
All of which goes to 
show what American 
women can do in all 
circumstances, especially army women. It 
was often hard to realize, while in Sulu, 
that just outside the house which encom- 
passed our little civilization barbarism lurk- 
ed, but through the open windows one could 
see the Moros in their picturesque colors, the 
more soberly dressed Filipinos, and the 
thrifty Chinamen with their long queues 
twisted up under their flat straw hats, while 
bits of conversation in all three tongues drift- 
ed in and mingled with our talk, as foreign to 
the American ear as was the tropical foliage 
to the American eye. 



THE SULTAN OF SULU. 


268 


HARPER'S BAZAR 



Zofie 

MASQUERADER 

KATHERINE CECIL THURSTON 


ILLUSTRATED BY 
CLARENCE F UNDERWOOD 



CHAPTER VII 
T was a little less than three 
weeks since Chilcote and 
Loder had drunk their toast, 
and again Loder was seated at 
his desk. 

His head was bent and his 
hand moved carefully as he traced line after 
line of meaningless words on a sheet of fools- 
cap. Having covered the page with writing, 
he rose, moved to the centre-table, and com- 
pared his task with an open letter that lay 
there. The comparison seemed to please him ; 
he straightened his shoulders and threw back 
his head in an attitude of critical satisfaction. 
So absorbed was he that, when a step sounded 
on the stairs outside, he did not notice it, and 
only raised his head when the door was 
thrown open unceremoniously. Even then his 
interest was momentary. 

“ Hullo!” he said, his eyes returning to 
their scrutiny of his task. 

Chilcote shut the door and came hastily 
across the room. He looked ill and harassed. 
As l^e reached Loder he put out his hand nerv- 
ously and touched his arm. 

Loder looked up. “ What is it ?” he asked. 
“ Any new development ?” 

Chilcote tried to smile. “Yes,” he said, 
huskily ; “ it’s come.” 

Loder freed his arm. “ What ? The end 
of the world?” 

“ No. The end of me.” The words came 
jerkily, the strain that had enforced them 
showing in every syllable. 

Still Loder was uncomprehending ; he could 
not, or would not, understand. 

Again Chilcote caught and jerked at 

Begun in Harper’s Bazar No. i., Vol. XXXVIII. 


raE 

his sleeve. “Don’t you see? Can’t you 
see?” 

“ No.” 

Chilcote dropped the sleeve and passed his 
handkerchief across his forehead. “ It’s come,” 
he repeated. “Don’t you understand? I want 
you.” He drew away, then stepped back 
again anxiously. “ I know I’m taking you 
unawares,” he said. “ But it’s not my fault. 
On my soul, it’s not! The thing seems to 
spring at me and grip me — ” He stopped, 
sinking weakly into a chair. 

For a moment Loder stood erect and im- 
movable; then, almost with reluctance, his 
glance turned to the figure beside him. 

“ You want me to take your place to-night 
— without preparation?” His voice was dis- 
tinct and firm, but it was free from contempt. 

“Yes.- Yes, I do.” Chilcote spoke without 
looking up. 

“ That you may spend the night in opium ? 
This and other nights?” 

Chilcote lifted a flushed, unsettled face. 
“ You have no right to preach. You accepted 
the bargain.” 

Loder raised his head quickly. “ I never — ” 
he began; then both his face and voice al- 
tered. “ You are quite right,” he said, coldly. 
“ You won’t have to complain again.” 

Chilcote stirred uncomfortably. “ My dear 
chap,” he said, “ I meant no offence. It’s 
merely — ” 

“ Your nerves. I know. But come to busi- 
ness. What am I to do ?” 

Chilcote rose excitedly. “Yes, business. 
Let’s come to business. It’s rough on you, 
taking you short like this. But you have an 
erratic person to deal with. I’ve had a hor- 
rible day — a horrible day.” His face had paled 







Drawn by CLAHENCE F. UndewWood. 


HE PICKED THEM UP AND CARRIED THEM TO THE LAMP 



270 


HARPERS BAZAR 


again, and in the green lamplight it pos- 
sessed a grayish hue. Involuntarily Loder 
turned away. 

Chilcote watched him as he passed to the 
desk and began mechanically sorting papers. 
“ A horrible day !” he repeated. “ So bad that 
I daren’t face the night. You have read de 
Quincey?” he asked, with a sudden change of 
tone. 

“Yes” 

“ Then read him again and you’ll under- 
stand. I have all the horrors — without any 
art. I have no ‘ Ladies of Sorrow,’ but I have 
worse monsters than his ‘ crocodile.’ ” He 
laughed unpleasantly. 

Loder turned. “ Why in the devil’s name — ; ’ 
he began ; then again he halted. Some- 
thing in Chilcote’s drawn, excited face check- 
ed him. The strange sense of predestination 
that we sometimes see in the eyes of another 
struck cold upon him, chilling his last at- 
tempt at remonstrance. “ What do you want 
me to do?” he substituted, in an ordinary 
voice. 

The words steadied Chilcote. He laughed 
a little. The laugh was still shaky, but it was 
pitched in a lower key. 

“You — you’re quite right to pull me up! 
We have no time to waste. It must be one 
o’clock.” He pulled out his watch, then 
walked to the window and stood looking down 
into the shadowy court. “ How quiet you 
are here!” he said. Then abruptly a new 
thought struck him and he wheeled back into 
the room. “ Loder !” he said, quickly. “ Loder, 
I have an idea! While you are me, why 
shouldn’t I be you? Why shouldn’t I be John 
Loder instead of the vagrant we contem- 
plated? It covers everything — it explains 
everything. It’s magnificent ! I’m amazed we 
never thought of it before.” 

Loder was still beside the desk. “ I thought 
of it,” he said, without looking back. 

“ And didn’t suggest it ?” 

“ No.” 

“Why?” 

Loder said nothing and the other colored. 

“Jealous of your reputation?” he said, 
satirically. 

“ I have none to he jealous of.” 

Chilcote laughed disagreeably. “ Then you 
aren’t so far gone in philosophy as I thought. 
You have a niche in your own good opinion.” 

Again Loder was silent; then he smiled. 
“ You have an oddly correct perception at 
times,” he said. “ I suppose I have had a lame 


sort of pride in keeping my name clean. But 
pride like that is out of fashion — and I’ve got 
to float with the tide.” He laughed, the short 
laugh that Chilcote had heard once or twice 
before, and crossing the room, he stood beside 
his visitor. “ After all,” he said, “ what busi- 
ness have I with pride, straight or lame? 
Have my identity if you want it. When all 
defences have been broken down one barrier 
won’t save the town.” Laughing again, he 
laid his hand on the other’s arm. “ Come !” 
he said, “ give your orders. I capitulate.” 

An hour later the two men passed from 
Loder’s bedroom, where the final arrange- 
ments had been completed, back into the sit- 
ting-room. Loder came first, in faultless 
evening dress. His hair was carefully brush- 
ed, the clothes fitted him perfectly. To any 
glance, critical or casual, he was the man who 
had mounted the stairs and entered the rooms 
earlier in the evening. Chilcote’s manner of 
walking and poise of the head seemed to have 
descended upon him with Chilcote’s clothes. 
He came into the room hastily and passed to 
the desk. 

“ I have no private papers,” he said, “ so 
I have nothing to lock up. Everything can 
stand as it is. A woman named Bobins comes 
in the mornings to clean up and light the fire ; 
otherwise you must shift for yourself. No- 
body will disturb you. Quiet — dead quiet, is 
about the one thing you can count on.” 

Chilcote, half halting in the doorway, 
made an attempt to laugh. Of the two, he 
was noticeably the more embarrassed. In 
Loder’s well-worn, well-brushed tweed suit he 
felt stranded on his own personality, bereft 
for the moment of the familiar accessories 
that helped to cloak deficiencies and keep the 
wheel of conventionality comfortably rolling. 
He stood unpleasantly conscious of himself, 
unable to shape his sensations even in 
thought. He glanced at the fire, at the table, 
finally at the chair on which he had thrown 
his overcoat before entering the bedroom. At 
the sight of the coat his gaze brightened, the 
aimlessness forsook him, and he gave an ex- 
clamation of relief. 

“By Jove!” he said. “I clean forgot.” 

“What?” Loder looked round. 

“ The rings.” He crossed to the coat and 
thrust his hand into the pocket. “ The du- 
plicates only arrived this afternoon. The 
nick of time, eh?” He spoke fast, his fingers 
searching busily. Occupation of any kind 
came as a boon. 


THE MASQUERADER 


271 


Loder slowly followed him, and as the box 
was brought to light he leant forward in- 
terestedly. 

“As I told you, one is the copy of an old 
signet ring, the other a plain band — a plain 
gold band like a wedding-ring.” Chileote 
laughed as he placed the four rings side by 
side on his palm. “ I could think of nothing 
eJse that would be wide — and not ostentatious. 
You know how I detest display.” 

Loder touched the rings. “ You have good 
taste,” he said. “ Let’s see if they serve their 
purpose?” He picked them up and carried 
them to the lamp. 

Chileote followed him. “ That was an ugly 
wound!” he said, his curiosity reawakened as 
Loder extended his finger. “ How did you 
come by it ?” 

The other smiled. “ It’s a memento,” he 
said. 

“ Of bravery ?” 

“ No. Quite the reverse.” He looked 
again at his hand, then glanced back at Chil- 
eote. “ No,” he repeated, with an unusual 
impulse of confidence. “ It serves to remind 
me that I am not exempt — that I have been 
fooled like other men.” 

“ That implies a woman ?” 

“ Yes.” Again Loder looked at the scar on 
his finger. “ I seldom recall the thing, it’s so 
absolutely past. But I rather like to re- 
member it to-night. I rather want you to 
know that I’ve been through the fire. It’s a 
sort of guarantee.” 

Chileote made a hasty gesture, but the other 
interrupted it. 

“ Oh, I know you trust me. But you’re giv- 
ing me a risky post. I want you to see that 
women are out of my line — quite out of it.” 

“ But, my dear chap — ” 

Loder went on without heeding. “ This 
thing happened eight years ago at Santasa- 
lare,” he said, “ a little place between Luna 
and Pistoria — a mere handful of houses 
wedged between two hills. A regular relic of 
old Italy crumbling away under flowers and 
sunshine, with nothing to suggest the present 
century except the occasional passing of a 
train round the base of one of the hills. I 
had literally stumbled upon the place on a 
long tramp south from Switzerland and had 
been tempted into a stay at the little inn. 
The night after my arrival something 
unusual occurred. There was an accident to 
the train at the point where it skirted the vil- 
lage. 


“ There was a small excitement ; all the in- 
habitants were anxious to help, and I took my 
share. As a matter of fact, the smash was 
not disastrous; the passengers were hurt and 
frightened, but nobody was killed.” He 
paused and looked at his companion, but see- 
ing him interested, went on : 

“ Amongst these passengers was an English 
lady. Of all concerned in the business, she 
was the least upset. When I came upon her 
she was sitting on the shattered door of one 
of the carriages, calmly rearranging her hat. 
On seeing me she looked up with the most 
charming smile imaginable. 

“ ‘ I have just been waiting for somebody 
like you,’ she said. 6 My stupid maid has 
got herself smashed up somewhere in the 
second-class carriages, and I have nobody to 
help me to find my dog.’ 

“Of course that first speech ought to have 
enlightened me, but it didn’t. I only saw the 
smile and heard the voice ; I knew nothing of 
whether they were deep or shallow. So I 
found the maid and found the dog. The first 
expressed gratitude; the other didn’t. I ex- 
tricated him with enormous difficulty from 
the wreck of the luggage-van and this was. 
how he marked his appreciation.” He held 
out his hand and nodded towards the scar. 

Chileote glanced up. “ So that’s the ex- 
planation ?” 

“ Yes. I tried to conceal the thing when I 
restored the dog, but I w T as bleeding abomi- 
nably and I failed. Then the whole business 
was changed. It was I who needed seeing 
to, my new friend insisted; I who should be 
looked after, and not she. She forgot the dog 
in the newer interest of my wounded finger. 
The maid, who was practically unhurt, was 
sent on to engage rooms at the little inn, and 
she and I followed slowly. 

“ That walk impressed me. There was an 
attractive mistiness of atmosphere in the 
warm night, a sensation more than attractive- 
in being made much of by a woman of one’s 
own class and country after five years’ wan- 
dering.” He laughed, with a touch of 
irony. “ But I won’t take up your time with 
details. You know the progress of an or- 
dinary love-affair. Throw in a few more 
flowers and a little more sunshine than is 
usual, a man who is practically a hermit and 
a woman who knows the world by heart, and 
you have the whole thing. 

“ She insisted on staying in Santasalare for 
three days in order to keep my finger ban- 


272 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


daged; she ended by staying three weeks in 
the hope of smashing up my life. 

“ On coming to the hotel she had given no 
name; and in our first explanations to each 
other she led me to conclude her an unmar- 
ried girl. It was at the end of the three weeks 
that I learned that she was not a free agent, 
as I had innocently imagined, but possessed 
a husband whom she had left ill with ma- 
laria at Florence or Eome. 

“ The news disconcerted me and I took no 
pains to hide it. After that the end came 
abruptly. In her eyes I had become a fool 
with middle-class principles; in my eyes — 
But there is no need for that. She left San- 
tasalare the same night in a great confusion 
of trunks and hat-boxes; and next morning I 
strapped on my knapsack and I turned my 
face to the south.” 

“ And women don’t count ever after ?” Chil- 
cote smiled, beguiled out of himself. 

Loder laughed. “ That’s what I’ve been 
trying to convey. Once bitten, twice shy!” 
He laughed again and slipped the two rings 
over his finger with an air of finality. 

“Now, shall I start? This is the latch- 
key?” • He drew a key from the pocket of 
Ohilcote’s evening clothes. “ When I get to 
Grosvenor Square I am to find your house, go 
straight in, mount the stairs, and there on my 
right hand will be the door of your — I mean 
my own — private rooms. I think I’ve got it 
all by heart. I feel inspired; I feel that I 
can’t go wrong.” He handed the two remain- 
ing rings to Chilcote and picked up the over- 
coat. 

“ I’ll stick on till I get a wire,” he said. 
“ Then I’ll come back and we’ll reverse 
again.” He slipped on the coat and moved 
back towards the table. Now that the decisive 
moment had come, it embarrassed him. 
Scarcely knowing how to bring it to an end, 
he held out his hand. 

Chilcote took it, paling a little. “ ’Twill he 
all right!” he said, with a sudden return of 
nervousness. “ ’Twill be all right ! And I’ve 
made it plain about—' hbout the remuneration ? 
A hundred a week — besides all expenses.” 

— Loder smiled again. “ My pay ? Oh yes, 
you’ve made it clear as day. Shall we say 
good night now?” 

u Yes. Good night !” 

There was a strange, distant note in Chil- 
cote’s voice, but the other did not pretend to 
hear it. He pressed the hand he was holding, 
though the cold dampness of it repelled him. 


“ Good night !” he said again. 

“ Good night!” 

They stood for a moment, awkwardly look- 
ing at each other, then Loder quietly disen- 
gaged his hand, crossed the room, and passed 
through the door. 

Chilcote, left standing alone in the middle 
of the room, listened while the last sound of 
the other’s footsteps was audible on the un- 
carpeted stairs; then, with a furtive, hurried 
gesture, he caught up the green-shaded lamp 
and passed into Loder’s bedroom. 

CHAPTEB VIII 

T O all men come portentous moments, 
difficult moments, triumphant moments. 
Loder had had his examples of all three, 
but no moment in his career ever equalled in 
strangeness of sensation that in which, 
dressed in another man’s clothes, he fitted 
the latch-key for the first time into the 
door of the other man’s house. 

The act was quietly done. The key fitted 
the lock smoothly and his fingers turned it 
without hesitation, though his heart, usually 
extremely steady, beat sharply for a second. 
The hall loomed massive and sombre despite 
the modernity of electric lights. It was dark- 
ly and expensively decorated in black and 
brown; a frieze of wrought bronze, represent- 
ing peacocks with outspread tails, ornamented 
the walls; the banisters were of heavy iron- 
work and the somewhat formidable fireplace 
was of the same dark metal. 

Loder looked about him, then advanced, his 
heart again beating quickly as his hand 
touched the cold banister and he began his 
ascent of the stairs. But at each step his 
confidence strengthened, his feet became more 
firm, until, at the head of the stairs, as if to 
disprove his assurance, his pulses played him 
false once more, this time to a more serious 
tune. From the further end of a well-lighted 
corridor a maid was coming straight in his 
direction. 

For one short second all things seemed to 
whiz about him; the certainty of detection 
overpowered his mind. The indisputable 
knowledge that he was John Loder and no 
other, despite all armor of effrontery and 
dress, so dominated him that all other con- 
siderations shrank before it. It wanted but 
a word, one simple word of denunciation, and 
the whole scheme was shattered. In the dis- 
may of the moment, he almost wished that 



Drawn by CLARENCE. F. UNDERWOOD. 

“won’t you sit down?” he said again. 


VOL. XXXVIII. — 18 . 


274 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


the word might be spoken and the suspense 
ended. 

But the maid came on in silence, and so 
incredible was the silence that Loder moved 
onward too. He came within a yard of her, 
and still she did not speak; then as he passed 
her she drew back respectfully against the 
wall. 

The strain, so astonishingly short, had been 
immense, but with its slackening came a 
strong reaction. The expected humiliation 
seethed suddenly to a desire to dare Fate. 
Pausing quickly, he turned and called the 
woman back. 

The spot where he had halted was vividly 
bright, the ceiling light being directly above 
his head; and as she came towards him he 
raised his face deliberately and waited. 

She looked at him without surprise or in- 
terest. “ Yes, sir ?” she said. 

“ Is your mistress in ?” he asked. He could 
think of no other question, but it served its 
purpose as a test of his voice. 

Still the woman showed no surprise. “ She’s 
not in, sir,” she answered. “ But she’s ex- 
pected in half an hour.” 

“ In half an hour ? All right ! That’s all 
I wanted.” With a movement of decision 
Loder walked back to the stair-head, turned 
to the right, and opened the door of Chil- 
cote’s rooms. 

The door opened on a short wide passage; 
on one side stood the study, on the other the 
bed, bath, and dressing rooms. With a blind 
sense of knowledge and unfamiliarity, bred 
of much description on Chilcote’s part, he 
put his hand on the study door and, still 
exalted by the omen of his first success, 
turned the handle. 

Inside the room there was firelight and 
lamplight and a studious air of peace. The 
realization of this and a slow incredulity at 
Chilcote’s voluntary renunciation were his 
first impressions ; then his attention was need- 
ed for more imminent things. 

As he entered, the new secretary was re- 
turning a volume to its place on the book- 
shelves. At sight of him he pushed it hastily 
into position and turned round. 

“ I was making a few notes on the political 
position of Khorasan,” he said, glancing with 
slight apprehensiveness at the other’s face. 
He was a small, shy man with few social at- 
tainments, but an extraordinary amount of 
learning. The antithesis of the alert Bless- 
ington, whom he had replaced. 


Loder bore his scrutiny without flinching. 
Indeed, it struck him suddenly that there was 
a fund of interest, almost of excitement, in 
the encountering of each new pair of eyes. 
At the thought he moved forward to the 
desk. 

“ Thank you. Greening,” he said. “ A very 
useful bit of work.” 

The secretary glanced up, slightly puzzled. 
His endurance had been severely taxed in the 
fourteen days that he had filled his new post. 

“ I’m glad you think so, sir,” he said, hesi- 
tatingly. “ You rather pooh-poohed the mat- 
ter this morning, if you remember.” 

Loder was taking off his coat, but stopped 
in the operation. 

“ This morning ?” he said. “ Oh, did I ? Did 
I ?” Then struck by the opportunity the words 
gave him, he turned towards the secretary. 
“ You’ve got to get used to me, Greening,” 
he said. “ You haven’t quite grasped me yet* 
I can see. I’m a man of moods, you know. 
Up to the present you’ve seen my slack side, 
my jarred side, but I have quite another when 
I care + o show it. I’m a sort of Jekyll and 
Hyde affair.” Again he laughed, and Green- 
ing echoed the sound diffidently. Chilcote 
had evidently discouraged familiarity. 

Loder eyed him with abrupt understanding. 
He recognized the loneliness in the anxious, 
conciliatory manner. 

“ You’re tired,” he said, kindly. “ Go to 
bed. I’ve got some thinking to do. Good 
night!” He held out his hand. 

Greening took it, still half distrustful of 
this fresh side to so complex a man. 

“Good night, sir!” he said. “To-morrow, 
if you approve, I shall go on with my notes. 
I hope you will have a restful night.” 

For a second Loder’s eyebrows went up, but 
he recovered himself instantly. 

“ Ah, thanks, Greening !” he said. “ Thanks ! 
I think your hope will be fulfilled.” 

He watched the little secretary move softly 
and apologetically to the door; then he walk- 
ed to the fire, and resting his elbows on the 
mantelpiece, he took his face in his hands. 

For a space he stood absolutely quiet, then 
his hands dropped to his sides and he turned 
slowly round. In that short space he had 
balanced things and found his bearings. The 
slight nervousness shown in his brusque sen- 
tences and overconfident manner faded out, 
and he faced facts steadily. 

With the return of his calmness, he took a 
long survey of the room. His glance bright- 


THE MASQUERADER 


275 


ened appreciatively as it travelled from the 
walls lined with well-bound books to the lamps 
modulated to the proper light ; from the lamps 
to the desk fitted with every requirement. 
Nothing was lacking. All he had once 
possessed, all he had since dreamed of, was 
here, but on a greater scale. To enjoy the 
luxuries of life a man must go long without 
them. Loder had lived severely — so severely 
that until three weeks ago he had believed 
himself exempt from the temxfiations of hu- 
manity. Then the voice of the world had 
spoken, and within him another voice had 
answered, with a tone so clamorous and in- 
sistent that it had outcried his surprised and 
incredulous wonder at its existence and its 
claims. That had been the voice of sup- 
pressed ambition; but now as he stood in the 
new atmosphere a newer voice lifted itself. 
The joy of material things rose suddenly, 
overbalancing the last remnant of the phi- 
losophy he had reared. He saw all things in a 
fresh light — the soft carpets, the soft lights, 
the numberless pleasant, unnecessary things 
that color the passing landscape and oil the 
wheels of life. This was power — power made 
manifest. The choice bindings of one’s books, 
the quiet harmony of one’s surroundings, the 
gratifying deference of one’s dependents — 
these were the visible, the outward signs, the 
things he had forgotten. 

Crossing the room slowly, he lifted and 
looked at the different papers on the desk. 
They had a substantial feeling, an impor- 
tance, an air of value. They were like the 
solemn keys to so many vexed problems. Be- 
side the papers were a heap of letters neatly 
arranged and as yet unopened. He turned 
them over one by one. They were all thick, 
and interesting to look at. He smiled as he 
recalled his own scanty mail : envelopes long 
and bulky or narrow and thin — unwelcome 
manuscripts or very welcome checks. Hav- 
ing sorted the letters, he hesitated. It was 
his task to open them, but he had never 
in his life opened an envelope addressed to 
another man. 

He stood uncertain, weighing them in his 
hand. Then all at once a look of attention 
and surprise crossed his face, and he raised 
his head. Some one had unmistakably paused 
outside the door which Greening had left 
ajar. 

There was a moment of apparent doubt, 
then a stir of skirts, a quick uncertain knock, 
and the intruder entered. 


For a couple of seconds she stood in the 
doorway; then, as Loder made no effort to 
speak, she moved into the room. She had 
apparently but just returned from some en- 
tertainment, for though she had drawn off her 
long gloves, she was still wearing an evening 
cloak of lace and fur. 

That she was Chilcote’s wife Loder instinc- 
tively realized the moment she entered the 
room. But a disconcerting confusion of 
ideas was all that followed the knowledge. 
He stood by the desk, silent and awkward, try- 
ing to fit his expectations to his knowledge. 
Then faced by the hopelessness of the task, 
he turned abruptly and looked at her again. 

She had taken off her cloak and was stand- 
ing by the fire. The compulsion of moving 
through life alone had set its seal upon her in 
a certain self-possession, a certain confidence 
of pose; yet her figure, as Loder then saw it, 
backgrounded by the dark books and gowned 
in pale blue, had a suggestion of youthful- 
ness that seemed a contradiction. The re- 
membrance of Chilcote’s epithets “ cold ” and 
“ unsympathetic ” came back to him with 
something like astonishment. He felt no un- 
certainty, no dread of discovery and humilia- 
tion, in her presence as he had in the maid’s; 
yet there was something in her face that made 
him infinitely more uncomfortable. A. look he 
could find no name for — a friendliness that 
studiously covered another feeling, whether 
question, distrust, or actual dislike he could 
not say. With a strange sensation of awk- 
wardness he sorted Chilcote’s letters, waiting 
for her to speak. 

As if divining his thought, she turned 
towards him. “ I’m afraid I rather intrude,” 
she said. “ If you are busy — ” 

His sense of courtesy was touched; he had 
begun life with a high opinion of women, and 
the words shook up an echo of the old senti- 
ment. 

“ Don’t think that,” he said, hastily. “ I 
was only looking through — my letters. You 
mustn’t rate yourself below letters.” He was 
conscious that his tone was hurried and his 
words a little jagged; but Eve did not appear 
to notice. Unlike Greening, she took the new 
manner without surprise. She had known 
Chilcote for six years. 

“ I dined with the Fraides to-night,” she 
said. “ Mr. Fraide sent you a message.” 

Unconsciously Loder smiled. There was 
humor in the thought of a message to him 
from the great Fraide. To hide his amuse- 


276 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


ment, he wheeled one of the big lounge-chairs 
forward. 

“ Indeed !” he said. “ Won’t you sit down?” 

They were near together now, and he saw 
her face more fully. Again he was taken 
aback. Chilcote had spoken of her as suc- 
cessful and intelligent, but never as beautiful. 
Yet her beauty was a rare and uncommon 
fact. Her hair was black — not a glossy black, 
but the dusky black that is softer than any 
brown ; her eyes were large and * of a pecul- 
iarly pure blue; and her eyelashes were black, 
beautifully curved, and of, remarkable thick- 
ness. 

“ Won’t you sit down?” he said again, cut- 
ting short his thoughts with some confusion. 

“ Thank you !” She gravely accepted the 
proifered chair. But he saw that without any 
ostentation she drew her skirts aside as she 
passed him. The action displeased him unac- 
countably. 

“ Well,” he said, shortly, “ what had Fraide 
to say?” He walked to the mantelpiece with 
his customary movement and stood watching 
her. The instinct towards hiding his face had 
left him. Her instant and uninterested ac- 
ceptance of him almost nettled him; his own 
half-contemptuous impression of Chilcote 
came to him unpleasantly, and with it the first 
o desire to assert his own individuality. Stung 
by the conflicting emotions, he felt in Chil- 
cote’s pockets for something to smoke. 

Eve saw and interpreted the action. “ Are 
these your cigarettes?” She leant towards a 
small table and took up a box made of 
lizard-skin. 

“ Thanks !” He took the box from her, and 
as it passed from one to the other, he saw her 
glance at his rings. The glance was momen- 
tary; her lips parted to express question or 
surprise, then closed again without comment. 
More than any spoken words, the incident 
showed him the gulf that separated husband 
and wife. 

“Well?” he said again, “what about 
Fraide?” 

At his words she sat straighter and looked 
at him more directly, as if bracing herself to 
a task. 

“Mr. Fraide is — is as interested as ever in 
you,” she began. 

“ Or in you ?” Loder made the interruption 
precisely as he felt Chilcote would have made 
it. Then instantly he wished the words back. 

Eve’s warm skin colored more deeply; for 
a second the inscrutable underlying ex- 


pression that puzzled him showed in her 
eyes, then she sank back into a corner of 
the chair. 

“ Why do you make such a point of sneer- 
ing at my friends ?” she asked, quietly. “ I 
overlook it when you are — nervous.” She 
halted slightly on the word. “ But you are 
not nervous to-night.” 

Loder, to his great humiliation, reddened. 
Except for an occasional outburst on the part 
of Mrs. Robins, his charwoman, he had not 
merited a woman’s displeasure for years. 

“ The sneer was unintentional,” he said. 

For the first time Eve showed a personal 
interest. She looked at him in a puzzled way. 
“ If your apology was meant,” she said, hesi- 
tatingly, “ I should be glad to accept it.” 

Loder, uncertain of how to take the words, 
moved back to the desk. He carried an un- 
lighted cigarette between his fingers. 

There was an interval in which neither 
spoke. Then at last, conscious of its awk- 
wardness, Eve rose. With one hand on the 
back of her chair she looked at him. 

“ Mr. Fraide thinks it’s such a pity that ” — 
she stopped to choose her words — “ that you 
should lose hold on things — lose interest in 
things, as you are doing. He has been think- 
ing a good deal about you in the last three 
weeks — ever since the day of your — your ill- 
ness in the House ; and it seems to him ” — 
again she broke off, watching Loder’s averted 
head — “ it seems to him that if you made one 
real effort now, even now, to shake off your 
restlessness, that your — your health might im- 
prove. He thinks that the present crisis would 
be ” — she hesitated — “ would give you a tre- 
mendous opportunity. Your trade interests, 
bound up as they are with Persia, would give 
any opinion you might hold a double weight.” 
Almost unconsciously a touch of warmth 
crept into her words. 

“ Mr. Fraide talked very seriously about the 
beginning of your career. He said that if 
only the spirit of your first days could come 
back — ” Her tone grew quicker, as though 
she feared ridicule in Loder’s silence. “ He 
asked me to use my influence. I know that 
I have little — none, perhaps — but I couldn’t 
tell him that, and so — so I promised.” 

“ And have kept the promise.” Loder spoke 
at random. Her manner and her words had 
both affected him. There was a sensation of 
unreality in his brain. 

“ Yes,” she answered. “ I always want to 
do — what I can.” 


THE MASQUERADER 


277 


As she spoke, a sudden realization of the 
effort she was making struck upon him, and 
with it his scorn of Chilcote rose in renewed 
force. 

“ My intention — ” he began, turning to her. 
Then the futility of any declaration silenced 
him. “ I shall think over what you say,” he 
added, after a minute’s wait. “ I suppose I 
can’t say more than that.” 

Their eyes met and she smiled a little. 

“ I don’t believe I expected as much,” she 
said. “I think I’ll go now. You have been 
wonderfully patient.” Again she smiled 
slightly, at the same time extending her hand. 
The gesture was quite friendly, but in Loder’s 
eyes it held relief as well as friendliness ; and 
when their hands met he noticed that her fin- 
gers barely brushed his. 

He picked up her cloak and carried it 
across the room. As he held the door open, 
he laid it quietly across her arm. 

“ I’ll think over what you’ve said,” he re- 
peated. 

Again she glanced at him as if suspecting 
sarcasm; then, partly reassured, she paused. 
“You will always despise your opportunities, 
and I suppose I shall always envy them,” she 
said. “ That’s the way with men and women. 
Good night!” With another faint smile she 
passed out into the corridor. 

Loder waited till he heard the outer door 
close, then he crossed the room thoughtfully 
and dropped into the chair that she had va- 
cated. He sat for a time looking at the hand 
her fingers had touched; then he lifted his 
head with a characteristic movement. 

“By Jove!” he said, aloud, “how cordially 
she detests him !” 

CHAPTER IX 

L ODER slept soundly and dreamlessly in 
Chilcote’s canopied bed. To him the 
big room with its severe magnificence 
suggested nothing of the gloom and solitude 
that it held in its owner’s eyes. The pon- 
derous furniture, the high ceiling, the heavy 
curtains, unchanged since the days of Chil- 
cote’s grandfather, all hinted at a far-reach- 
ing ownership that stirred him. The owner- 
ship was mythical in his regard, and the pos- 
sessions a mirage, but they filled the day. 
And surely, sufficient for the day — 

That was his frame of mind as he opened 
his eyes on the following morning, and lay 
appreciative of his comfort, of the surround- 
ing space, even of the light that filtered 


through the curtain chinks, suggestive of a 
world recreated. With day, all things seem 
possible to a healthy man. He stretched his 
arms luxuriously, delighting in the glossy 
smoothness of the sheets. 

What was it Chilcote had said? Better 
live for a day than exist for a lifetime ! That 
was true; and life had begun. At thirty-six 
he was to know it for the first time. 

He smiled, but without irony. Man is at 
his best at thirty-six, he mused. He has re- 
tained his enthusiasms and shed his exuber- 
ances; he has learned what to pick up and 
what to pass by; he no longer imagines that 
to drain a cup one must taste the dregs. He 
closed his eyes and stretched again, not his 
arms only this time, but his whole body. The 
pleasure of his mental state insisted on a 
physical expression. Then sitting up in bed, 
he pressed the electric bell. 

Chilcote’s new valet responded. 

“ Pull those curtains, Renwick !” he said. 
“ What’s the time ?” He had passed the or- 
deal of Renwick’s eyes the night before. 

The man was slow, even a little stupid. He 
drew back the curtains carefully, then looked 
at the small clock on the dressing-table. 
“ Eight o’clock, sir. I didn’t expect the bell 
so early, sir.” 

Loder felt reproved, and a pause followed. 

“ May I bring your cup of tea, sir ?” 

“ No. Not just yet. I’ll have a bath first.” 

Renwick showed ponderous uncertainty. 
“Warm, sir?” he hazarded. 

“No. Cold.” 

Still perplexed, Renwick left the room. 

Loder smiled to himself. The chances of 
discovery in that quarter were not large. He 
was inclined to think that Chilcote had even 
overstepped necessity in the matter of his 
valet’s dulness. 

He breakfasted alone, following Chilcote’s 
habit, and after breakfast found his way to 
the study. 

As he entered. Greening rose with the same 
conciliatory haste that he had shown the night 
before. 

Loder nodded to him. “ Early at work ?” he 
said, pleasantly. 

The little man showed instant, almost ri- 
diculous, relief. “ Good morning, sir,” he 
said; “you too are early. I rather feared 
your nerves troubled you after I left last 
night, for I found your letters still unopened 
this morning. But I am glad to see you look 
so well.” 


278 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


AS SHE CAME TOWARDS THEM, FRAIDE DREW AWAY HIS HAND IN READINESS TO GREET HER. 



Drawn by CLARENCE F. UNDERWOOD. 


Loder promptly turned his back to the light. 
“ Oh, last night’s letters!” he said. “To tell 
you the truth, Greening, my wife ” — his hesi- 
tation was very slight — “ my wife looked me 
up after you left, and we gossiped. I clean 
forgot the jfost.” He smiled in an explana- 
tory way as he moved to the desk and picked 
up the letters. 

With Greening’s eyes upon him, there was 
no time for scruples. With very creditable 
coolness he began opening the envelopes one 
by one. The letters were unimportant, and 
he passed them one after another to the sec- 
retary, experiencing a slight thrill of authori- 
ty as each left his hand. Again the fact that 
power is visible in little things came to his 
mind. 

“ Give me my engagement-hook, Greening,” 
he said, when the letters had been disposed of. 

The book that Greening handed him was 


neat in shape and bound, like Chilcote’s 
cigarette-case, in lizard-skin. 

As Loder took it, the gold monogram “ J. C.” 
winked at him in the bright morning light. 
The incident moved his sense of humor. He 
and the book were cooperators in the fraud, 
it seemed. He felt an inclination to wink 
back. Nevertheless, he opened it with proper 
gravity and skimmed the pages. 

The page devoted to the day was almost 
full. On every other line were jottings in 
Chilcote’s irregular hand, and twice amongst 
the entries appeared a prominent cross in blue 
pencilling. Loder’s interest quickened as his 
eye caught the mark. It had been agreed be- 
tween them that only engagements essential 
to Chilcote’s public life need he carried 
through during his absence, and these, to save 
confusion, were to he crossed in blue pencil. 
The rest, for the most part social claims, were 


THE MASQUERADER 


279 


to be left to circumstance and Loder’s inclina- 
tion, Chilcote’s erratic memory always ac- 
counting for the breaking of trivial promises. 

But Loder in his new energy was anxious 
for obligations ; the desire for fresh and 
greater tests grew with indulgence. He 
scanned the two lines with eagerness. The 
first was an interview with Cresham, one of 
Chilcote’s supporters in Wark; the other an 
engagement to lunch with Fraide. At the 
idea of the former his interest quickened, but 
at thought of the latter it quailed momen- 
tarily. Had the entry been a royal command 
it would have affected him infinitely less. 
For a space his assurance faltered; then, by 
coincidence, the recollection of Eve and Eve’s 
w’ords of last night came back to him, and his 
mind was filled with a new sensation. 

Because of Chilcote, he was despised by 
Chilcote’s wife! There was no denying that 
in all the pleasant excitement of the adven- 
ture that knowledge had rankled. It came 
to him now linked with remembrance of the 
slight reluctant touch of her fingers, the 
faintly evasive dislike underlying her glance. 
It was a trivial thing, but it touched his pride 
as a man. That was how he put it to himself. 
It wasn’t that he valued this woman’s opinion 
— any woman’s opinion; it was merely that 
it touched his pride. He turned again to the 
window and gazed out, the engagement-book 
still between his hands. What if he com- 
pelled her respect? What if by his own per- 
sonality cloaked under Chilcote’s identity he 
forced her to admit his capability? It was a 
matter of pride, after all — scarcely even of 
pride; self-respect was a better word. 

Satisfied by his own reasoning, he turned 
back into the room. 

“ See to those letters. Greening,” he said. 
u And for the rest of the morning’s work you 
might go on with your Khorasan notes. I be- 
lieve we’ll all want every inch of knowledge 
we can get in that quarter before we’re much 
older. I’ll see you again later.” With a re- 
assuring nod he crossed the room and passed 
through the door. 

He lunched with Fraide at his club, and 
afterwards walked with him to Westminster. 
The walk and lunch were both memorable. 
In that hour he learned many things that had 
been sealed to him before. He tasted his 
first draught of real elation, his first drop of 
real discomfiture. He saw for the first time 
how a great man may condescend — how unos- 
tentatiously, how fully, how delightfully. 


He felt what tact and kindness perfectly com- 
bined may accomplish, and he burned inward- 
ly with a sense of duplicity that crushed and 
elated him alternately. He was John Loder, 
friendless, penniless, with no present and no 
future, yet he walked down Whitehall in the 
full light of day with one of the greatest 
statesmen England has known. 

Some strangers were being shown over the 
Terrace when he and Fraide reached the 
House, and noticing the open door, the old 
man paused. 

“ I never refuse fresh air,” he said. “ Shall 
we take another breath of it before settling 
down?” He took Loder’s arm and drew him 
forward. As they passed through the doorway 
the pressure of his fingers tightened. “ I shall 
reckon to-day amongst my pleasantest memo- 
ries, Chilcote,” he said, gravely. “ I can’t 
explain the feeling, but I seem to have touch- 
ed Eve’s husband — the real you, more closely 
this morning than I ever did before. It has 
been a genuine happiness.” He looked up 
with the eyes that, through al? his years of 
action and responsibility, had remained so 
bright. 

But Loder paled suddenly, and his glance 
turned to the river — wide, mysterious, secret. 
Unconsciously Fraide had stripped the illu- 
sion. It was not John Loder who walked 
here; it was Chilcote — Chilcote with his po- 
sition, his constituency — his wife. He half 
extricated his arm, but Fraide held it. 

“ Ho,” he said. “ Don’t draw away from 
me. You have always been too ready to do 
that. It is not often I have a pleasant 
truth to tell. I won’t be deprived of the en- 
joyment.” 

“ Can the truth ever be pleasant, sir ?” 
Involuntarily Loder echoed Chilcote. 

Fraide looked up. He was half a head 
shorter than his companion, though his dig- 
nity concealed the fact. “ Chilcote,” he said, 
seriously, “ give up cynicism ! It is the trade 
mark of failure, and I do not like it in my 
— friends.” 

Loder said nothing. The quiet insight of 
the reproof, its mitigating kindness, touched 
him sharply. In that moment he saw the 
rails down which he had sent his little car 
of existence spinning, and the sight daunted 
him. The track was steeper, the gauge nar- 
rower, than he had guessed ; there were curves 
and sidings upon which he had not reckoned. 
He turned his head and met Fraide’s glance. 

“ Don’t count too much on me, sir,” he said. 


280 


HARPERS BAZAR 


slowly. “ I might disappoint you again.” 
His voice broke off on the last word, for the 
sound of other voices and of laughter came 
to them across the Terrace as a group of two 
women and three men passed through th* 
open door. At a glance he realized that the 
slighter of the two women was Eve. 

Seeing them, she disengaged herself from 
her party and came quickly forward. He saw 
her cheeks flush and her eyes brighten pleas- 
antly as they rested on his companion; but 
he noticed also that after her first cursory 
glance she avoided his own direction. 

As she came towards them, Fraide drew 
away his hand in readiness to greet her. 

“ Here comes my godchild !” he said. “ I 
often wish, Chilcote, that I could do away 
with the prefix.” He added the last words in 
an undertone as she reached them; then he 
responded warmly to her smile. 

“What!” he said. “Turning the Terrace 
into the Garden of Eden in January! We 
cannot allow this.” 

Eve laughed. “Blame Lady Sarah!” she 
said. “ We met at lunch, and she carried me 
off. Needless to say I hadn’t to ask where.” 

They both laughed, and Loder joined, a 
little uncertainly. He had yet to learn that 
the devotion of Fraide and his wife was a 
long-standing jest in their particular set. 

At the sound of his tardy laugh Eve 
turned to him. “ I hope I didn’t rob you of 
all sleep last night,” she said. “ I caught him 
in his den,” she explained, turning to Fraide, 
“ and invaded it most courageously. I be- 
lieve we talked till two.” 

Again Loder noticed how quickly she look- 
ed from him to Fraide. The knowledge 
roused his self-assertion. 

“ I had an excellent night,” he said. “ Do I 
look as if I hadn’t slept?” 

Somewhat slowly and reluctantly Eve 
looked back. “ No,” she said, truthfully, and 
with a faint surprise that to Loder seemed the 
first genuine emotion she had shown regard- 
ing him. “No. I don’t think I ever saw 
you look so well.” She was quite unconscious 
and very charming as she made the admission. 
It struck Loder that her coloring of hair and 
eyes gained by daylight — was brightened and 
vivified by their setting of sombre river and 
sombre stone. 

Fraide smiled at her affectionately; then 
looked at Loder. “ Chilcote has got a new 
lease of nerves, Eve,” he said, quietly. “ And 
I — believe I have got a new henchman. But 


I see my wife beckoning to me. I must have 
a word with her before she flits away. May 
I be excused?” He made a courteous gesture 
of apology; then smiled at Eve. 

She looked after him as he moved away. 
“ I sometimes wonder what I should do if 
anything were to happen to the Eraides,” she 
said, a little wistfully. Then almost at once 
she laughed, as if regretting her impulsive- 
ness. “ You heard what he said,” she went 
on, in a different voice. “ Am I really to con- 
gratulate you?” 

The change of tone stung Loder unac- 
countably. “ Will you always disbelieve in 
me?” he asked. 

Without answering, she walked slowly 
across the deserted Terrace and, pausing by 
the parapet, laid her hand on the stonework. 
Still in silence she looked out across the 
river. 

Loder had followed closely. Again her 
aloofness seemed a challenge. “ Will you 
always disbelieve in me?” he repeated. 

At last she looked up at him, slowly. 

“ Have you ever given me cause to believe ?” 
she asked, in a quiet voice. 

To this truth he found no answer, though 
the subdued incredulity nettled him afresh. 

Prompted to a further effort, he spoke 
again. “ Patience is necessary with every 
person and every circumstance,” he said. 
“ We’ve all got to wait and see.” 

She did not lower her gaze as he spoke; 
and there seemed to him something dis- 
concerting in the clear, candid blue of her 
eyes. With a sudden dread of her next words, 
he moved forward and laid his hand beside 
hers on the parapet. 

“ Patience is needed for every one,” he 
repeated, quickly. “ Sometimes a man is like 
a bit of wreckage; he drifts till some force 
stronger than himself gets in his way and 
stops him.” He looked again at her face. 
He scarcely knew what he was saying; he 
only felt that he was a man in an egregiously 
false position, trying stupidly to justify him- 
self. “Don’t you believe that flotsam can 
sometimes be washed ashore?” he asked. 

High above them Big Ben chimed. 

Eve raised her head. It almost seemed to 
him that he could see her answer trembling 
on her lips; then the voice of Lady Sarah 
Fraide came cheerfully from behind them. 

“Eve!” she called. “Eve! We must fly- 
It’s absolutely three o’clock !” 

[to be continued.] 


THE GARDEN 


409 



Here thickly set shall mignonette 
send sweetness everywhere, 
Here fleur-de-lis and gillyflower 
shall make you glad of June* 

A Spanish dagger haughtily shall 
lift its shining spear 
O'er monk's-hood and snap- 
dragon and the foxglove 
flowering fine, 

A mourning-bride, grown close be- 
side, shall hold a crystal 
tear, 

While Sweet-William leads a 
merry dance with laughing 
Columbine* 


For old times' sake one nook shall 
have a Canterbury bell, 
Since down the twilight walk I 
see a fair old shadow stray. 
By garden walls when evening falls 
the one who loved them well 
Balsam and balm and rosemary 
shall find about her way* 


What dust of dust these seeds are 
we sow with wizard hands ! 

What blossoms, oh, what blos- 
soms sleep in their tiny 
round! 

As if strange sprites should wing 
their flights from far and 
foreign lands, — 

What miracles we bring to pass 
within our garden grounds ! 


410 


HARPER'S BAZAR 



CHAPTER X 

X the days that followed 
Eraide’s marked adoption of 
him Loder behaved with a dis- 
cretion that spoke well for his 
qualities. Many a man placed 
in the same responsible, and 
yet strangely irresponsible, position might 
have been excused if, for the time at least, he 
gave himself a loose rein. But Loder kept 
free of the temptation. 

Like all other experiments, his showed un- 
looked-for features when put to a working 
test. Its expected difficulties smoothed them- 
selves away, while others, scarcely antici- 
pated, came into prominence. Most notable 
of all, the physical likeness between him- 
self and Chilcote, the bedrock of the whole 
scheme, which had been counted upon to 
offer most danger, worked without a hitch. 
He stood literally amazed before the sweep- 
ing credulity that met him on every hand. 
Men who had known Chilcote from his 
youth, servants who had been in his em- 
ployment for years, even crossing-sweepers 
who brushed the crossings near his house and 
cabmen who had been in the habit of wait- 
ing for him at given places, all joined issue 
in the unquestioning acceptance. At times 
the ease of the deception bewildered him; 
there were moments when he realized that, 
should circumstances force him to a declara- 
tion of the truth, he would not be believed. 
Human nature prefers its own eyesight to the 
testimony of any man. 

But in face of this astonishing success he 
steered a steady course. In the first exhila- 

Begun in Harper’s Bazar No.i., Vol. XXXVIII. 


ration of Fraide’s favor, in the first egotistical 
wish to break down Eve’s scepticism, he might 
possibly have plunged into the vortex of ac- 
tion, let it be in what direction it might; but 
fortunately for himself, for Chilcote, and for 
their scheme, he was liable to strenuous 
second thoughts — those wise and necessary 
curbs that go further to the steadying of the 
universe than the universe guesses. Sitting 
in the quiet of the House, on the same day 
that he had spoken with Eve on the Terrace, 
he had weighed possibilities slowly and cau- 
tiously. Impressed to the full by the atmos- 
phere of the place that in his eyes could never 
lack character, however dull its momentary 
business, however prosy the voice that filled 
it, he had sifted impulse from expedience, as 
only a man who has lived within himself can 
sift and distinguish. And at the close of that 
first day his programme had been formed. 
There must be no rush, no headlong plunge, 
he had decided ; things must work around. It 
was his first expedition into the new coun- 
try, and it lay with E ate to say whether it 
would be his last. 

He had been leaning back in his seat, his 
eyes on the Ministers opposite, his arms fold- 
ed in imitation of Chilcote’s most natural at- 
titude, when this final speculation had come 
to him ; and as it came his lips had tightened 
for a moment and his face become hard and 
cold. It is an unpleasant thing when a man 
first unconsciously reckons on the weakness 
of another, and the look that expresses the 
idea is not good to see. Loder had stirred 
uneasily; then his lips had closed again. He 
w T as tenacious by nature, and by nature in- 
tolerant of weakness. At the first suggestion 



THE MASQUERADER 


411 


of reckoning upon Chilcote’s lapses, his mind 
had drawn back in disgust ; but as the 
thought came again the disgust had lessened. 

In a week — two weeks, perhaps, Chilcote 
would reclaim his place. Then would begin 
the routine of the affair. Chilcote, fresh 
from indulgence and freedom, would find his 
obligations a thousand times more irksome 
than before; he would struggle for a time; 
then — 

A shadowy smile had touched Loder’s lips 
as the idea formed itself. 

Then would come the inevitable recall ; 
then in earnest he might venture to put his 
hand to the plough. He never indulged in 
day dreams, but something in the nature of 
a vision had flashed over his mind in that 
instant. He had seen himself standing in 
that same building, seen the rows of faces 
first bored, then hesitatingly transformed 
under his personal domination, under the one 
great power he knew himself to possess — the 
power of eloquence. The strength of the sug- 
gestion had been almost painful. Men who 
have attained self-repression are occasionally 
open to a perilous onrush of feeling. Be- 
lieving that they know themselves, they walk 
boldly forward towards the highroad and the 
pitfall alike. 

These had been Loder’s disconnected ideas 
and speculations on the first day of his new 
life. At four o’clock on the ninth day he was 
pacing with quiet confidence up and down 
Chilcote’s study, his mind pleasantly busy 
and his cigar comfortably alight, when he 
paused in his walk and frowned, interrupted 
by the entrance of a servant. 

The man came softly into the room, drew 
a small table towards the fire, and proceeded 
to lay an extremely fine and unserviceable- 
looking cloth. 

Loder watched him fin silence. He had 
grown to find silence a very useful commodity. 
To wait and let things develop was the atti- 
tude he oftenest assumed. But on this occa- 
sion he was perplexed. He had not rung for 
tea, and in any case a cup on a salver satisfied 
his wants. He looked critically at the fragile 
cloth. 

Presently the servant departed, and solemn- 
ly reentered carrying a silver tray, with cups, 
a teapot, and cakes. Having adjusted them to 
his satisfaction, he turned to Loder. 

“Mrs. Chilcote will be with you in five 
minutes, sir,” he said. 

He waited for some response, hut Loder 


gave none. Again he had found the advan- 
tages of silence, but this time it was silence 
of a compulsory kind. He had nothing to 
say. 

The man, finding him irresponsive, retired ; 
and left to himself, Loder stared at the array 
of feminine trifles; then, turning abruptly, 
he moved to the centre of the room. 

Since the day they had talked on the Ter- 
race he had only seen Eve thrice, and always 
in the presence of others. Since the night of 
his first coming, she had not invaded his 
domain, and he wondered what this new de- 
parture might mean. 

His thought of her had been less vivid in 
the last few days; for, though still using 
steady discretion, he had been drawn gradu- 
ally nearer the fascinating whirlpool of new 
interests and new work. Shut his eyes as he 
might, there was no denying that this moment 
so personally vital to him was politically vital 
to the whole country; and that by a curious 
coincidence Chilcote’s position well - nigh 
forced him to take an active interest in the 
situation. Again and again the suggestion 
had arisen that — should the smouldering fire 
in Persia break into a flame, Chilcote’s com- 
mercial interests would facilitate, would prac- 
tically compel, his standing in in the cam- 
paign against the government. 

The little incident of the tea-table, recall- 
ing the social side of his obligations, had 
roused the realization of greater things. As 
he stood meditatively in the middle of the 
room he saw suddenly how absorbed he had 
become in these greater things. How in the 
swing of congenial interests he had been borne 
insensibly forward — his capacities expanding, 
his intelligence asserting itself. He had so 
undeniably found his sphere that the idea of 
usurpation had receded gently as by natural 
laws, until his own personality had begun to 
color the day’s work. 

As this knowledge came he wondered quick- 
ly if it held a solution of the present little 
comedy; if Eve had seen what others, he 
knew, had observed — that Chilcote was show- 
ing a grasp of things that he had not ex- 
hibited for years. Then as a sound of skirts 
came softly down the corridor, he squared his 
shoulders with his habitual abrupt gesture 
and threw his cigar into the fire. 

Eve entered the room much as she had 
done on her former visit, but with one differ- 
ence. In passing Loder she quietly held out 
her hand. 


412 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


He took it as quietly. “ Why am I so hon- 
ored ?” he said. 

She laughed a little and looked across at 
the fire. “ How like a man! You always 
want to begin with reasons. Let’s have tea 
first and explanations after.” She moved 
forward towards the table, and he followed. 
As he did so it struck him that her dress 
seemed in peculiar harmony with the day and 
the room, though beyond that he could not 
follow its details. As she paused beside the 
table he drew forward a chair with a faint 
touch of awkwardness. 

She thanked him and sat down. 

He watched her in silence as she poured out 
the tea, and the thought crossed his mind that 
it was incredibly long since he had seen a 
woman preside over a meal. The deftness of 
her fingers filled him with an unfamiliar, 
half-inquisitive wonder. So interesting was 
the sensation that, when she held his cup 
towards him, he didn’t immediately see it. 

“ Don’t you want any ?” She smiled a little. 

He started, embarrassed by his own tardi- 
ness. “ I’m afraid I’m dull,” he said. “ I’ve 
been so — ” 

“ So keen a worker in the last week ?” 

For a moment he felt relieved. Then as a 
fresh silence fell his sense of awkwardness re- 
turned. He sipped his tea and ate a biscuit. 
He found himself wishing, for almost the first 
time in his life, for some of the society talk 
that came so pleasantly to other men. He 
felt that the position was ridiculous. He 
glanced at Eve’s averted head, and laid his 
empty cup upon the table. 

Almost at once she turned, and their eyes 
met. 

“ John,” she said, “ do you guess at all why 
I wanted to have tea with you ?” 

He looked down at her. “ Ho,” he said, 
honestly and without embellishment. 

The curtness of the answer might have dis- 
pleased another woman. Eve seemed to take 
no offehce. 

“ I h’gd a talk with the Eraides to-day,” she 
said. “ A long talk. Mr. Fraide said great 
things of you — things I wouldn’t have believed 
from anybody but Mr. Fraide.” She altered 
her position and looked from Loder’s face 
back into the fire. 

He took a step forward. “What things?” 
he said. He was almost ashamed at the sud- 
den, inordinate satisfaction that welled up at 
her words. 

“ Oh, I mustn’t tell you !” She laughed a 


little. “ But you have surprised him.” She 
paused, sipped her tea, then looked up again 
with a change of expression. 

“ J ohn,” she said, more seriously, “ there is 
one point that sticks a little. Will this great 
change last?” Her voice was direct and even 
— wonderfully direct for a woman, Loder 
thought. It came to him with a certain force 
that beneath her remarkable charm might pos- 
sibly lie a remarkable character. It was not 
a possibility that had occurred to him before, 
and it caused him to look at her a second time. 
In the new light he saw her beauty differently, 
and it interested him differently. Heretofore 
he had been inclined to class women under 
three heads — idols, amusements, or encum- 
brances ; now it crossed his mind that a wom- 
an might possibly fill another place — the 
place of a companion. 

“ You are very sceptical,” he said, still look- 
ing down at her. 

She did not return his glance. “ I think I 
have been made sceptical,” she said. 

As she spoke the image of Chilcote shot 
through his mind. Chilcote, irritable, vi- 
cious, unstable, and a quick compassion for 
this woman so inevitably shackled to him 
followed it. 

Eve, unconscious of what was passing in 
his mind, went on with her subject. 

“ When we were married,” she said, gently, 
“ I had such a great interest in things, such 
a great belief in life. I had lived in politics, 
and I was marrying one of the coming men — 
everybody said you were one of the coming 
men. I scarcely felt there was anything left 
to ask for. You didn’t make very ardent 
love,” she smiled, “but I think I had for- 
gotten about love. I wanted nothing so much 
as to be like Lady Sarah — married to a great 
man.” She paused, then went on more hur- 
riedly : “For a while things went right ; then 
slowly things went wrong. You got your — 
your nerves.” 

Loder changed his position with something 
of abruptness. 

She misconstrued the action. 

“ Please don’t think I want to be disagreea- 
ble,” she said, hastily. “ I don’t. I’m only 
trying to make you understand why — why I 
lost heart.” 

“ I think I know,” Loder’s voice broke in- 
voluntarily. “ Things got worse — then still 
worse. You found interference useless. At 
last you ceased to have a husband.” 

“ Until a week ago.” She glanced up quick- 


THE MASQUERADER 


41 S 



Drawn by CLARENCE F. UNDERWOOD. 

THERE WAS NO SILENCE WHILE THEY EXCHANGED CLOTHES. LODER TALKED CONTINUALLY. 


ly. Absorbed in her own feelings, she had 
seen nothing extraordinary in his words. 

But at hers Loder changed color. 

“ It’s the most incredibl! thing in the 
world,” she said. “ It’s quite incredible, and 
yet I can’t deny it. Against all my reason, 
all my experience, all my inclination, I seem 
to feel in the last week something of what I 
felt at first.” She stopped with an embar- 
rassed laugh. “ It seems that, as if by magic, 
life had been picked up where I dropped it 
six years ago.” Again she stopped and 
laughed , 

Loder was keenly uncomfortable, but he 
could think of nothing to say. 

“ It seemed to begin that night I dined with 
the Fraides,” she went on. “ Mr. Fraide talk- 
ed so wisely and so kindly about many things. 
He recalled all we had hoped for in you; and 
— and he blamed me a little.” She paused 


and laid her cup aside. “ He said that when 
people have made what they call their last 
effort, they should always make just one ef- 
fort more. He promised that if I could once 
persuade you to take an interest in your work, 
he would do the rest. He said all that, and a 
thousand other kinder things — and I sat and 
listened. But all the time I thought of noth- 
ing but their uselessness. Before I left I 
promised to do my best — but my thought was 
still the same. It was stronger than ever 
when I forced myself to come up here — ” 
She paused again, and glanced at Loder’s 
averted head. “ But I came, and then — as if 
by conquering myself I had compelled a re- 
ward, you seemed — you somehow seemed dif- 
ferent. It sounds ridiculous, I know.” Her 
voice was half amused, half deprecating. “ It 
wasn’t a difference in your face, though I 
knew directly that you were free from — 


414 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


nerves.” Again she hesitated over the word. 
“ It was a difference in yourself, in the things 
you said, more than in the way you said 
them.” Once more she paused and laughed 
a little. 

Loder’s discomfort grew. 

“ But it didn’t affect me then.” She spoke 
more slowly. “ I wouldn’t admit it then. And 
next day when we talked on the Terrace I 
still refused to admit it — though I felt it 
more strongly than before. But I have 
watched you since that day, and I know there 
is a change. Mr. Eraide feels the same, and 
he is never mistaken. I know it’s only nine 
or ten days, but I’ve hardly seen you in the 
same mood for nine or ten hours in the last 
three years.” She stopped, and the silence 
was expressive. It seemed to plead for con- 
firmation of her instinct. 

Still Loder could find no response. 

After waiting for a moment, she leant for- 
ward in her chair and looked up at him. 

“John,” she said, “ is it going to last? 
That’s what I came to ask. I don’t want to 
believe till I’m sure; I don’t want to risk a 
new disappointment.” Loder felt the ear- 
nestness of her gaze, though he avoided meet- 
ing it. 

“ I couldn’t have said this to you a week 
ago, but to-day I can. I don’t pretend to ex- 
plain why — the feeling is too inexplicable. I 
only know that I can say it now, and that I 
couldn’t a week ago. Will you understand — 
and answer?” 

Still Loder remained mute. His position 
was horribly incongruous. What could he 
say? What dared he say? 

Confused by his silence, Eve rose. 

“ If it’s only a phase, don’t try to hide it,” 
she said. “ But if it’s going to last — if by 
any possibility it’s going to last — ” She 
hesitated and looked up. 

She was quite close to him. He would 
have been less than man had he been uncon- 
scious of the subtle contact of her glance, the 
nearness of her presence — and no one had 
ever hinted that manhood was lacking in him. 
It was a moment of temptation. His own 
energy, his own intentions, seemed so near; 
Chilcote and Chileote’s claims so distant and 
unreal. After all, his life, his ambitions, his 
determinations, were his own. He lifted his 
eyes and looked at her. 

“You want me to tell you that I will go 
on ?” he said. 

Her eyes brightened; she took a step for- 


ward. “ Yes,” she said, “ I want it more than 
anything in the world.” 

There was a wait. The declaration that 
would satisfy her came to Loder’s lips, but he 
delayed it. The delay was fateful. While he 
stood silent the door opened and the servant 
who had brought in the tea reappeared. 

He crossed the room and handed Loder a 
telegram. “ Any answer, sir ?” he said. 

Eve moved back to her chair. There was 
a flush on her cheeks and her eyes were still 
alertly bright. 

Loder tore the telegram open, read it, then 
threw it into the fire. 

“ Ho answer !” he said, laconically. 

At the brusqueness of his voice, Eve looked 
up. “ Disagreeable news ?” she said, as the 
servant departed. 

He didn’t look at her. He was watching 
the telegram withering in the centre of the 
fire. 

“ Ho,” he said at last, in a strained voice. 
“ Ho. Only news tk I — that I had. forgotten 
to expect.” 

CHAPTER XI 

T HERE was a silence, an uneasy break, 
after Loder spoke. The episode of the 
telegram was, to all appearances, or- 
dinary enough, calling forth Eve’s question 
and his own reply as a natural sequence; yet 
in the pause that followed it each was con- 
scious of a jar, each was aware that in some 
subtle way the thread of sympathy had been 
dropped, though to one the cause was inex- 
plicable, and to the other only too plain. 

Loder watched the ghost of his message 
grow whiter and thinner, then dissolve into 
airy fragments jmd flutter up the chimney. 
As the last morsel wavered out of sight, he 
turned and looked at his companion. 

“ You almost made me commit myself,” he 
said. In the desire to hide his feelings, his 
tone was short. 

Eve returned his glance with a quiet re- 
gard, but he scarcely saw it. Lie had a stupe- 
fied sense of disaster; a feeling of bitter self- 
commiseration that for the moment out- 
weighed all other considerations. Almost at 
the moment of justification, the good of life 
had crumbled in his fingers, the soil given 
beneath his feet, and with an absence of 
logic, a lack of justice unusual in him, he let 
resentment against Chilcote swegp suddenly 
over his mind. 

Eve, still watching him, saw the darkening 



Drawn by Clarence F. Underwood. 

l6der tore the telegram open, read it, then threw it into the fire. 


416 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


of his expression, and with a quiet move- 
ment rose from her chair. 

“Lady Sarah has a theatre party to-night, 
and I am dining with her,” she said. “ It is 
an early dinner, so I must think about dress- 
ing. I’m sorry if you think I tried to draw 
you into anything. I must have explained 
myself badly.” She laughed a little to cover 
the slight discomfiture that her tone be- 
trayed, and as she laughed she moved across 
the room towards the door. 

Loder, engrossed in the check to his own 
schemes, incensed at the suddenness of Chil- 
cote’s recall, and still more incensed at his 
own folly in not having anticipated it, was 
oblivious for the moment of both her move- 
ment and her words. Then quite abruptly 
they obtruded themselves upon him, breaking 
through his egotism with something of the 
sharpness of pain following a blow. Turning 
quickly from the fireplace, he faced the 
shadowy room across which she had passed, 
but simultaneously with his turning she 
gained the door. 

The knowledge that she was gone struck 
him with a sense of double loss. “ Wait !” 
he called, suddenly moving forward. But al- 
most at once he paused, chilled by the soli- 
tude of the room. 

“ Eve !” he said, using her name uncon- 
sciously for the first time. 

But the corridor as well as the room was 
empty; he was too late. He stood irreso- 
lute ; then he laughed shortly, turned and 
passed back towards the fireplace. 

The blow had fallen, the inevitable come 
to pass, and nothing remained but to take 
the fact with as good a grace as possible. 
Chilcote’s telegram had summoned him to 
Clifford’s Inn at seven o’clock, and it was 
now well on towards six. He pulled out his 
watch — Chilcote’s watch he realized with a 
touch of grim humor as he stooped to ex- 
amine the dial by the light of the fire. Then 
as if the humor had verged to another feel- 
ing, he stood straight again and felt for the 
electric button in the wall. His fingers 
touched it and simultaneously the room was 
lighted. 

The abrupt alteration from shadow to light 
came almost as a shock. The feminine ar- 
rangement of the tea-table seemed incon- 
gruous beside the sober books and the desk 
laden with papers — incongruous as his own 
presence in the place. The thought was un- 
pleasant, and he turned aside as if to avoid 


it ; but at the movement his eyes fell on Chil- 
cote’s cigarette-box with its gleaming mono- 
gram, and the whimsical suggestion of his 
first morning rose again. The idea that the 
inanimate objects in the room knew him for 
what he was — recognized the inteidoper 
where human eyes saw the rightful possessor 
— returned to his mind. Through all his dis- 
gust and chagrin a smile forced itself to his 
lips, and crossing the room for the second 
time, he passed into Chilcote’s bedroom. 

There, the massive furniture and sombre 
atmosphere fitted better with his mood than 
the energy and action which the study always 
suggested. Walking directly to the great 
bed, he sat on its side and for several min- 
utes stared straight in front of him, ap- 
parently seeing nothing; then at last the 
apathy passed from him, as his previous anger 
against Chilcote had passed. He stood up 
slowly, drawing his long limbs together, and 
recrossed the room, passing along the corri- 
dor and through the door communicating 
with the rest of the house. Five minutes 
later he was in the open air and walking 
steadily eastward, his hat drawn forward and 
his overcoat buttoned up. 

As he traversed the streets he allowed him- 
self no thought. Once, as he waited in 
Trafalgar Square to find a passage between 
the vehicles, the remembrance of Chilcote’s 
voice coming out of the fog on their first 
night made itself prominent, but he rejected 
it quickly, guarding himself from even an in- 
voluntary glance at the place of their meet- 
ing. The Strand with its unceasing life 
came to him as something almost unfamiliar. 
Since his identification with the new life no 
business had drawn him east of Charing 
Cross, and his "first sight of the narrower 
stream of traffic struck him as garish and 
unpleasant. As the impression came he ac- 
celerated his steps, moved by the wish to 
make regret and retrospection alike impossi- 
ble by a contact with actual forces. 

Still walking hastily, he entered Clifford’s 
Inn, but there almost unconsciously his feet 
halted. There was something in the quiet 
immutability of the place that sobered 
energy, both mental and physical. A sense of 
changelessness — the changelessness of . in- 
animate things, that rises in such solemn 
contrast to the variableness of mere human 
nature, which a new environment, a new 
outlook, sometimes even a new presence, 
has power to upheave and remould. He 


TEE MASQUERADER 


417 



Drawn by CLARENCE F. UNDERWOOD. 

THERE HE PAUSED AND DREW A LONG BREATH. 


paused; then with slower and steadier steps 
crossed the little court and mounted the. 
familiar stairs of his own house. 

As he turned the handle of his own door 
some one stirred inside the sitting-room. 
Still under the influence of the stones and 
trees that he had just left, he moved directly 
towards the sound, and without waiting for 
permission, entered the room. After the 
darkness of the passage it seemed well alight, 
for besides the lamp with its green shade, 
a large fire burned in the grate and helped 
to dispel the shadows. 

As he entered the room Chilcote rose and 
came forward, his figure thrown into strong 
relief by the double light. He was dressed 
in a shabby tweed suit; his face looked pale, 
and set with a slightly nervous tension, but 
besides the look and a certain added restless- 
ness of glance there was no visible change. 
Reaching Loder, he held out his hand. 

“ Well?” he said, quickly. 

The other looked at him questioningly. 

“ Well? Well? How has it gone?” 

“ The scheme? Oh, excellently!” Loder’s 
manner was abrupt. Turning from the rest- 
less curiosity in Chilcote’s eyes, he moved a 
vol. xxxviii. — 27. 


little way across the room and began to draw 
off his coat. Then, as if struck by the in- 
civility of the action, he looked back again. 
“ The scheme has gone extraordinarily,” he 
said. “ I could almost say absurdly. There 
are some things, Chilcote, that fairly bowl a 
man over — and this is one.” 

A great relief tinged Chilcote’s face. 
“ Good !” he exclaimed. “ Tell me all about it.” 

But Loder was reticent. The moment was 
not propitious. It was as if a hungry man 
had dreamed a great banquet and had 
awakened to his starvation. He was chary of 
imparting his visions. 

“ There’s nothing to tell,” he said, shortly. 
“ All that you’ll want to know is here in 
black and white. I don’t think you’ll find 
I have slipped anything; it’s a clear business 
record.” From an inner pocket he drew out 
a bulky note-book, and recrossing the room, 
laid it open on the table. It was a correct, 
even a minute, record of every action that 
had been accomplished in Chilcote’s name. 
“ I don’t think you’ll find any loose ends,” 
he said as he turned back the pages. “ I had 
you and your position in my mind all 
through.” He paused and glanced up from 


418 


HARPER'S BAZAR 


the book. “ You have a position that abso- 
lutely insists upon attention,” he added in 
a different voice. 

At the new tone of voice Chilcote looked 
up as well. “ No moral lectures!” he said 
with a nervous laugh- “ I was anxious to 
know if you had pulled it off — and you have 
reassured me. That’s enough. I was in a 
funk this afternoon to know how things were 
going — one of those sudden, unreasonable 
funks. But now that I see you ” — he cut 
himself short and laughed once more — “ now 
that I see you, I’m hanged if I don’t want to 
— to prolong your engagement.” 

Loder glanced at him, then glanced away. 
He felt a quick shame at the eagerness that 
rose at the words — a surprised contempt at 
his own readiness to anticipate the man’s 
weakness. But almost as speedily as he had 
turned away he looked back again. 

“ Tush, man!” he said, with his old intol- 
erant manner. “ You’re dreaming. You’ve 
had your holiday and school’s begun again. 
You must remember you are dining with the 
Charringtons to-night. Young Charring- 
ton’s coming of age — quite a big business. 
Come along ! I want my clothes.” He 
laughed, and, moving closer to Chilcote, 
slapped him on the shoulder. 

Chilcote started; then suddenly becoming 
imbued with the other’s manner, he echoed 
the laugh. 

“ By Jove!” he said, “ you’re right! 
You’re quite right! A man must keep his 
feet in their own groove.” Baising his 
hand, he began to fumble with his tie. 

But Loder kept the same position. “ You’ll 
find the check-book in its usual drawer,” he 
said. “I’ve made one entry of a hundred 
pounds — pay for the first week. The rest can 
stand over until — ” He paused abruptly. 

Chilcote shifted his position. “ Don’t talk 
about that. It upsets me to anticipate. I 
can make out a check to-morrow payable to 
John Loder.” 

u No. That can wait. The name of Loder is 
better out of the book. We can’t be too care- 
ful.” Loder spoke with unusual impetuosity. 
Already a slight, unreasonable jealousy' was 
coloring his thoughts. Already he grudged 
the idea of Chilcote with his unstable glance 
and restless fingers opening the drawers and 
sorting the papers that for one stupendous 
fortnight had been his without question. 
Turning aside, he changed the subject 
brusquely. 


“ Come into the bedroom,” he said. “ It’s 
half past seven if it’s a minute, and the 
Charringtons’ show is at nine.” Without 
waiting for a reply, he walked across the 
room and held the door open. 

There was no silence while they exchanged 
clothes. Loder talked continuously, some- 
times in short, curt sentences, sometimes 
with ironic touches of humor; he talked until 
Chilcote, strangely affected by contact with 
another personality after his weeks of soli- 
tude, fell under his influence — his excitement 
rising, his imagination stirring at the nov- 
elty of change. At last, garbed once more in 
the clothes of his own world, he passed from 
the bedroom back into the sitting-room, and 
there halted, waiting for his companion. 

Almost directly Loder followed. He came 
into the room quietly, and moving at once to 
the table, picked up the note-book. 

“ I’m not going to preach,” he began, “ so 
you needn’t shut me up. But I’ll say just 
one thing — a thing that will get said. Try 
and keep your hold ! Remember your respon- 
sibilities — and keep your hold!” He spoke 
energetically, looking earnestly into Chil- 
cote’s eyes. He did not realize it, but he was 
pleading for his own career. 

Chilcote paled a little, as he always did in 
face of a reality. Then he extended his hand. 

“ My dear fellow,” he said, with a touch of 
hauteur, “ a man can generally be trusted to 
look after his own.” 

Extricating his hand almost immediately, 
he turned towards the door and without a 
word of farewell passed into the little hall, 
leaving Loder alone in the sitting-room. 

CHAPTER XII 

O N the night of Chilcote’s return to his 
own, Loder tasted the lees of life 
poignantly for the first time. Before 
their curious compact had been entered upon 
he had been, if not content, at least apathetic ; 
but with action the apathy had been dis- 
persed, never again to regain its old position. 

He realized with bitter certainty that his 
was no home-coming. On entering Chilcote’s 
house he had experienced none of the un- 
familiarity, none of the unsettled awkward- 
ness, that assailed him now. There, he had 
almost seemed the exile returning after many 
hardships ; here, in the atmosphere made com- 
mon by years, he felt an alien. It was illus- 
trative of the man’s character that sentimen- 


TIIE MASQUERADER 


419 


talities found no place in his nature. Senti- 
ments were not lacking*, though they lay out 
of sight, but sentimentalities he altogether 
denied. 

Left alone in the sitting-room after Chil- 
cote’s departure, his first sensation was one 
of physical discomfort and unfamiliarity. 
His own clothes with their worn looseness 
brought no sense of friendliness such as some 
men find in an old garment. Lounging and 
the clothes that suggested lounging had no 
appeal for him. In his eyes the garb that 
implies responsibility was symbolic and even 
inspiring. 

And as with clothes, so with his actual sur- 
roundings. Each detail of his room was fa- 
miliar, but not one had ever become inti- 
mately close. He had used the place for 
years, but he had used it as he might use a 
hotel; and whatever of his household gods 
had come with him remained, like himself, 
on sufferance. His entrance into Chilcote’s 
surroundings had been altogether different. 
Unknown to himself, he had been in the 
position of a young artist who, having rough- 
ly modelled in clay, is brought into the 
studio of a sculptor. To his outward vision 
everything is new, but his inner sight 
leaps to instant understanding. Amidst all the 
strangeness he recognizes the one essential — 
the workshop, the atmosphere, the home. 

On this first night of return Loder compre- 
hended something of his position; and com- 
prehending, he faced the problem and fought 
with it. 

He had made his bargain and must pay 
his share. Weighing this, he looked about his 
room with a quiet gaze. Then at last, as if 
finding the object really sought for, his eyes 
came round to the mantelpiece and rested on 
the pipe-rack. The pipes stood precisely as 
he had left them. He looked at them for a 
long time, then an ironic expression that was 
almost a smile touched his lips, and, crossing 
the room, he took the oldest and blackest 
from its place and slowly filled it with 
tobacco. 

With the first indrawn breath of smoke his 
attitude unbent. Without conscious deter- 
mination, he had chosen the one factor capa- 
ble of easing his mood. A cigarette is for the 
trivial moments of life; a cigar for its ful- 
filments, its pleasant, comfortable retrospec- 
tions; but in real distress — in the solving of 
question, the fighting of difficulty — a pipe 
is man’s eternal solace. 


So he passed the first night of his return 
to the actualities of life. Next day his mind 
had somewhat settled and outward aid was 
not so essential; but though facts faced him 
more solidly, they were nevertheless very 
drab in shade. The necessity for work, that 
blessed antidote to ennui, no longer forced 
him to endeavor. He was no longer penni- 
less, but the money he possessed brought with 
it no desires. When a man has lived from 
hand to mouth for years and suddenly finds 
himself with a hundred pounds in his 
pocket, the result is sometimes curious. He 
finds with a vague sense of surprise that 
he has forgotten how to spend. That extrava- 
gance, like other artificial passions, requires 
cultivation. 

This he realized more fully on the days 
that followed the night of his first return; 
and with it was born a new bitterness. The 
man who has friends and no money may find 
life difficult; but the man who has money and 
no friend to rejoice in his fortune or benefit 
by his generosity is aloof indeed. With the 
leaven of incredulity that works in all strong 
natures, Loder distrusted the professional 
beggar — so the charity that bestows easily 
and promiscuously was denied him. Of other 
channels of generosity he was too self-con- 
tained to have learnt the secret. 

When depression falls upon a man of 
usually even temperament it descends with 
a double weight. The mercurial nature has 
a hundred counterbalancing devices to rid 
itself of gloom — a sudden lifting of spirit, a 
memory of other moods lived through, other 
blacknesses dispersed by time; but the man 
of level nature has none of these. De- 
pression, when it comes, is indeed depression ; 
no phase of mind to be superseded by another 
phase, but a slackening of all the cords of life. 

It was through such a depression as this 
that he labored during three weeks, while no 
summons and no hint of remembrance came 
from Chilcote. His position was peculiarly 
difficult. He found no action in the present, 
and towards the future he dared not trust 
himself to look. He had slipped the old 
moorings that familiarity had rendered en- 
durable; but having slipped them, he had 
found no substitute. Such was his case on 
the last night of the three weeks, and such 
his frame of mind as, dressed in his usual 
overcoat, he crossed Fleet Street from Clif- 
ford’s Inn to Middle Temple Lane. 

It was scarcely seven o’clock, but already 


420 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


the dusk was falling; the greater press of 
vehicles had ceased and the light of the street 
lamps gleamed back from the spaces of dry 
and polished roadway, worn smooth as a 
mirror by wheels and hoofs. Something of 
the solitude of night that sits so ill on the 
strenuous city street was making itself felt, 
though the throngs of people on the pathway 
still streamed eastward and westward, and the 
taverns made a busy trade. 

Having crossed the roadway, Loder paused 
for a moment to survey the scene. But hu- 
manity in the abstract made small appeal to 
him, and his glance wandered from the 
passers-by to the buildings massed like clouds 
against the dark sky. As his gaze moved 
slowly from one to the other, a clock near at 
hand struck seven, and an instant later the 
chorus was taken up by a dozen clamorous 
tongues. Usually he scarcely heard, and 
never heeded, these innumerable chimes; but 
this evening their effect was strange. Com- 
ing out of the darkness, they seemed to pos- 
sess a personal note, a human declaration. 
The impression was fantastic, but it was 
strong; with a species of revolt against life 
and his own personality, he turned slowly 
and moved forward in the direction of Lud- 
gate Hill. 

For a space he continued his course, then 
reaching Bouverie Street, he turned sharply 
to the right, made his way down the slight 
incline of Carmelite and Tallis streets, and 
reached the Embankment. There he paused 
and drew a long breath. The sense of space 
and darkness soothed him. Pulling his cap 
well over his eyes, he crossed to the river and 
walked on in the direction of Westminster 
Bridge. 

As he walked, the great mass of water by 
his side looked dense and smooth as oil with 
its sweeping width and network of reflected 
light. On its further bank rose the tall 
buildings, the chimneys, the flaring lights 
that suggest another and an alien London; 
close at hand stretched the solid stone para- 
pet, giving assurance of protection. 

All these things he saw with his mental 
eyes, but with his mental eyes only, for his 
physical gaze was fixed ahead where the 
Houses of Parliament loomed out of the 
dusk. From the great building his eyes 
never wavered until the Embankment was 
traversed and Westminster Bridge reached. 
Then he paused, resting his arms on the 
coping of the bridge. 


In the tense quietude of the darkness 
the place looked vast and inspiring. The 
shadowy Terrace, the silent river, the rows 
of lighted windows, each was significant. 
Slowly and comprehensively his glance pass- 
ed from one to the other. He was no senti- 
mentalist and no dreamer; his act was simply 
the act of a man whose interests, robbed of 
their natural outlet, turn instinctively to- 
wards the forms and symbols of the work 
that is denied them. His scrutiny was 
steady — even cold. He was raised to no ex- 
altation by the vastness of the building, nor 
was he chilled by any dwarfing of himself. 
He looked at it long and thoughtfully, then, 
again moving slowly, he turned and re- 
traced his steps. 

His mind was full as he walked back, still 
oblivious of the stone parapet of the Em- 
bankment, the bare trees, and the flaring 
lights of the advertisements across the water. 
Turning to the left, he regained Fleet Street 
and made for his own habitation with the 
quiet accuracy that some men exhibit in mo- 
ments of absorption. 

He crossed Clifford’s Inn with the same 
slow, almost listless step; then, as his own 
doorway came into view, he stopped. Some 
one was standing in its recess. 

For a moment he wondered if his fancy 
were playing him a trick; then his reason 
sprang to certainty with so fierce a leap that 
for an instant his mind recoiled. We more 
often stand aghast at the strength of our own 
feelings than before the enormity of our 
neighbors’ actions. 

“ Is that you, Chilcote ?” he said, below his 
breath. His voice was even, though his mind 
swam. 

At the sound of his voice the other wheeled 
round. “ Hallo !” he said. “ I thought you 
were the ghost of some old inhabitant. I sup- 
pose I am very unexpected?” 

Loder took the hand that he extended and 
pressed the fingers unconsciously. The sight 
of this man was like the finding of an oasis 
at the point where the desert is sandiest, 
deadliest, most unbearable. 

“ Yes, you are — unexpected,” he answered. 

Chilcote looked at him, then looked out 
into the court. “ I’m done up,” he said. 
“ I’m right at the end of the tether.” He 
laughed as he said it, but in the dim light of 
the hall Loder thought his face looked ill and 
harassed, despite the flush that the excite- 
ment of the meeting had brought to it. Ta- 


TEE MASQUERADER 


421 


king his arm, he drew him towards the 
stairs. 

“ So the rope has run out, eh?” he said, in 
imitation of the other’s tone. But under the 
quiet of his manner his own nerves were 
throbbing with the peculiar alertness of an- 
ticipation; a sudden sense of mastery over 
life that lifted him above surroundings and 
above persons — a sense of stature, mental and 
physical, from which he surveyed the world. 
He felt as if Fate, in the moment of utter 
darkness, had given him a sign. 

As they crossed the hall, Chilcote had 
drawn away and was already mounting the 
stairs. And as Loder followed, it came sharp- 
ly to his mind that here, in the slipshod free- 
dom of a door that was always open and 
stairs that were innocent of covering, lay his 
companion’s real niche — unrecognized in out- 
ward avowal, but acknowledged by the in- 
ward, keener sense that manifests the in- 
dividual. 

In silence they mounted the stairs, but on 
the first landing Chilcote paused and looked 
back, surveying Loder from the superior 
height of two steps. 

“ I did very well at first,” he said. “ I did 
very well — I almost followed your example, 
for a week or so. I found myself on a sort 
of pinnacle — and I clung on. But in the last 
ten days I’ve — I’ve rather lapsed.” 

“ Why ?” Loder avoided looking at his 
face; he kept his eyes fixed determinated on 
the spot where his own hand gripped the 
banister. 

“ Why ?” Chilcote repeated. “ Oh, the pre- 
historic tale — weakness stronger than 
strength. I’m — I’m sorry to come down on you 
like this, but it’s the social side that bowls 
me over. It’s the social side I can’t stick.” 

“ The social side ? But I thought — ” 

“ Don’t think. I never think ; it entails 
such a constant upsetting of principles and 
theories. We did arrange for business only, 
but one can’t set up barriers. Society pushes 
itself everywhere nowadays — into business 
most of all. I don’t want you for theatre 
parties or dinners. But a big reception with a 
political flavor is different. A man has to be 
seen at these things; he needn’t say anything 
or do anything, but it’s bad form if he fails 
to show up.” 

Loder raised his head. “ You must ex- 
plain,” he said, abruptly. 

Chilcote started slightly at the sudden de- 
mand. 


“ I — I suppose I’m rather irrelevant,” he 
said, quickly. “ Fact is, there’s a reception at 
the Bramf ells’ to-night. You know Blanche 
Bramfell — Viscountess Bramfell, sister to 
Lillian Astrupp.” His words conveyed noth- 
ing to Loder, but he did not consider 
that. All explanations were irksome to him 
and he invariably chafed to be done with 
them. 

“ And you’ve got to put in an appearance 
— for party reasons?” Loder broke in. 

Chilcote showed relief. “ Yes. Old 
Fraide makes rather a point of it — so does 
Eve.” He said the last words carelessly, 
then as if their sound recalled something, 
his expression changed. A touch of 
satirical amusement touched his lips, and he 
laughed. 

“ By the way, Loder,” he said, “my wife 
was actually tolerant of me for nine or ten 
days after my return. I thought your rep- 
resentation was to be quite impersonal? I’m 
not jealous,” he laughed. “ I’m not jealous, 
I assure you; but the burned child shouldn’t 
grow absent-minded.” 

At his tone and his laugh Loder’s blood 
stirred; with a sudden, unexpected impulse 
his hand tightened on the banister, and, look- 
ing up, he caught sight of the face above 
him — his own face, it seemed, alight with 
malicious interest. At the sight a strange 
sensation seized him ; his grip on the banister 
loosened, and pushing past Chilcote, he hur- 
riedly mounted the stairs. 

Outside his own door the other overtook 
him. 

“ Loder!” he said. “ Loder! I meant no 
harm. A man must have a laugh sometimes.” 

But Loder was facing the door and did not 
turn round. 

A sudden fear shook Chilcote. “ Loder!” 
he exclaimed again, “ you wouldn’t desert 
me? I can’t go back to-night. I can’t go 
back.”. 

Still Loder remained immovable. 

Alarmed by his silence, Chilcote crossed 
the landing swiftly, glancing nervously back 
at the steep staircase. 

“ Loder ! Loder, you won’t desert me ?” 
He caught hastily at his arm. 

With a quick repulsion Loder shook him 
off; then almost as quickly he turned round. 

“ What fools we all are !” he said, abruptly. 
“We only differ in degree. Come in, and let 
us change our clothes.” 

[to be continued.] 


422 


HARPER’S BAZAR 



Paris, February 25, 1904. 

H AYING publicly declared my belief in 
the virtue of the French people, I 
have taken much interest in an annual 
and conspicuous event in Paris which, as it 
were, officially confirms my position. Each 
year no less body than the Academy 
— the Forty Immortals, acting in all the 
solemnity of their office, clothed in all the 
green and silver glory of their state — as- 
semble, after a time - honored custom, to 
award the prix de virtu. Applying to 
the situation our American test — “ money 
talks ” — it so appears that the esteem 
which the French people have for virtue 
amounts to over 150,000 francs annually. 
That sum is every year devoted by the Acad- 
emy to the crowning of virtue. The prac- 
tice dates back to the year 1825, though, in a 
way, the root of the origin of the prix de virtu 
is to be found in the very foundation of the 
Academy. Richelieu had the idea of making 
the Academy something more than the mother 
of the French dictionary; he wished it to be 
a dictator in the whole sphere of literature. 
Napoleon, reestablishing the institution, de- 
sired to impose upon it a like role, which, 
however, by a process of passive resistance 
it escaped, except in so far as after a time 
the practice was adopted of conferring annu- 
ally a prix de poesie , and that of eloquence, 
the latter founded by Balzac, and each 
amounting to about 300 francs. In 1780 a 
man, M. de Montyon by name, anonymously 
founded the prix de virtu. The Revolution, 
however, interrupted the operation of this 
work and it was not until 1825 that the prix 
de virtu was actually first awarded. Imme- 
diately the idea spread, and ever since, from 
time to time, imitators of M. de Montyon 
have donated greater or less sums to the 
Academy to be distributed in honor of virtue. 

In founding his prize, M. de Montyon de- 
scribes himself as a “ citizen who loves litera- 
ture and believes it useful to humanity.” 
That is to say, in effect, M. de Montyon, lov- 
ing belles-lettres, devotes a considerable sum 


of money to the encouragement of virtue. 
This connection is not at once apparent to 
the American mind and also at first it strikes 
the American as a bit incongruous that the 
seance of the Academy which assembles for 
the bestowal of the prix de virtu proceeds 
to crown also a large number of purely 
literary works. 

However, a very little experience among 
the French explains all this. As a matter 
of fact, just as in the United States it 
is held that if a little boy is good he will 
grow up to be President, so in France it is 
believed that the little boy who resists evil 
temptation will one day be a man of letters; 
nor does the iniquity of American politics, 
on the one hand, nor that of French literature, 
on the other, operate in the least to disturb 
the relativities of this hope. In placing the 
Academy under the necessity of discovering 
and crowning virtue in itself, apart from its 
ultimate expression in fine literature, M. de 
Montyon proposed a task which has caused 
him ever since to be pretty generally sus- 
pected of having acted ironically. It is ques- 
tioned whether in the establishment of his 
prix de virtu he sought more to honor virtue 
or to embarrass the Academy, so that when 
the annual seance convenes for the bestowal 
of the de Montyon prize the Paris world 
grins and prepares anew to hugely enjoy the 
discomfiture of the Immortals. In opening 
the seance of 1903, M. Thureau-Dangin, the 
director, boldly interpreted the public mind 
and cleverly diverted its amusement. Said 
he to the audience assembled : “ I know very 
well that, too polite to let it be seen, you are 
nevertheless laughing — not at virtue, to be 
sure, but at the Academy having to sit in 
judgment on virtue. You would call out to 
us, if good manners permitted — ‘ You — you 
Academicians — you represent literature, and 
what, pray, has literature to do with virtue?’ 
But,” he rejoined, “ I am satisfied that it 
was not at all in the quality of judge that M. 
de Montyon charged the Academy with dis- 
tributing the prix de virtu ; it was rather be- 





CHAPTEE XIII 
HE best moments of a man’s 
life are the moments when, 
strong in himself, he feels 
that the world lies before him. 
Gratified ambition may be the 
summer, but anticipation is 
the ardent spring-time of a man’s career. 

As Loder drove that night from Fleet 
Street to Grosvenor Square he realized this — 
though scarcely with any degree of con- 
sciousness, for he was no accomplished self- 
analyst. But in a wave of feeling too vigor- 
ous to be denied, he recognized his regained 
foothold — the step that lifted him at once 
from the pit to the pinnacle. 

In that moment of realization he looked 
neither backward nor forward. The present 
was all-sufficing. Difficulties might loom 
ahead, but difficulties had but one object — the 
testing and sharpening of a man’s strength. 
In the first deep surge of egotistical feeling 
he almost rejoiced in Chilcote’s weakness. 
The more Chilcote tangled the threads of his 
life, the stronger must be the fingers that un- 
ravelled them. He was possessed by a great 
impatience; the joy of action was stirring in 
his blood. 

Leaving the cab, he walked confidently to 
the door of Chilcote’s house and inserted the 
latch-key. Even in this small act there was 
a grain of individual satisfaction. Then 
very quietly he opened the door and crossed 
the hall. 

As he entered a footman was arranging the 
fire that burned in the big grate. Seeing the 
man, he halted. 

Begun in Harper’s Bazar No. i., Vol. XXXVIII. 


“ Where is your mistress ?” he asked, in un- 
conscious repetition of his first question in 
the same house. 

The man looked up. “ She has just finished 
dinner, sir. She dined alone in her own 
room.” He glanced at Loder in the quick, 
uncertain way that was noticeable in all the 
servants of the household when they ad- 
dressed their master. Loder saw the look 
and wondered what depth of curiosity it be- 
trayed, how much of insight into the domes- 
tic life that he must always be content to 
skim. For an instant the old resentment 
against Chilcote tinged his exaltation, but he 
swept it angrily aside. Without further re- 
mark, he began to mount the stairs. 

Gaining the landing, he did not turn as 
usual to the door that shut off Chilcote’s 
rooms, but moved onward down the corridor 
towards Eve’s private sitting - room. He 
moved slowly till the door was reached; then 
he paused and lifted his hand. There was a 
moment’s wait while his fingers rested on the 
handle; then a sensation he could not explain 
— a reticence, a reluctance to intrude upon 
this one precinct, caused his fingers to relax. 
With a slightly embarrassed gesture he drew 
back slowly and retraced his steps. 

Once in Chilcote’s bedroom, he walked to 
the nearest bell and pressed it. Eenwick re- 
sponded, and at sight of him Loder’s feelings 
warmed with the same sense of fitness and 
familiarity that the great bed and sombre 
furniture of the room had inspired. 

But the man did not come forward as he 
expected. He remained close to the door 
with a hesitation that was unusual in a 
trained servant. It struck Loder that possi- 



474 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


bly his stolidity had exasperated Chilcote, 
and that possibly Chilcote had been at no 
pains to conceal the exasperation. The idea 
caused him to smile involuntarily. 

“ Come into the room, Renwick,” he said. 
“ It’s uncomfortable to see you standing 
there. I want to know if Mrs. Chilcote has 
sent me any message about to-night.” 

Renwick studied him furtively as he came 
forward. “ Yes, sir,” he said. “ Mrs. Chil- 
cote’s maid said that the carriage was ordered 
for ten-fifteen, and she hoped that would suit 
you.” He spoke reluctantly, as if expecting 
a rebuke. 

At the opening sentence Loder had turned 
aside, but now as the man finished he wheel- 
ed round again and looked at him closely 
with his keen, observant eyes. 

“ Look here,” he said. “ I can’t have you 
speak to me like that. I come down on you 
rather sharply when my — my nerves are bad; 
but when I’m myself I treat you — well, I 
treat you decently, at any rate. You’ll have 
to learn to discriminate. Look at me now!” 
A thrill of risk and of rulership passed 
through him as he spoke. “ Look at me now ! 
Do I look as I looked this morning — or yes- 
terday ?” 

The man eyed him half stupidly, half 
timidly. 

“Well?” Loder insisted. 

“ Well, sir,” Renwick responded with some 
slowness, “you look the same — and you look 
different. A healthier color perhaps, sir — 
and the eye clearer.” He grew more confi- 
dent under Loder’s half-humorous, half-in- 
sistent gaze. “ How that I look closer, sir — ” 

Loder laughed. “ That’s it !” he said. 
“ How that you look closer. You’ll have to 
grow observant; observation is an excellent 
quality in a servant. When you come into a 
room in future, look first of all at me — and 
take your cue from that. Remember that 
serving a man with nerves is like serving two 
masters. How you can go; and tell Mrs. 
Chilcote’s maid that I shall be quite ready 
at a quarter past ten.” 

“ Yes, sir. And after that ?” 

“ Hothing further. I sha’n’t want you 
again to-night.” He turned away as he 
spoke, and moved towards the great fire that 
was always kept alight in Chilcote’s room. 
Then as the man moved towards the door, he 
wheeled back again. “ Oh, one thing more, 
Renwick! Bring me some sandwiches and a 
whiskey.” He remembered for the first 


time that he had eaten nothing since early 
afternoon. 

At a few minutes after ten Loder left 
Chilcote’s room, resolutely descended the 
stairs, and took up his position in the hall. 
Resolution is a strong word to apply to such 
a proceeding, but something in his bearing, 
in the attitude of his shoulders and head, in- 
stinctively suggested it. 

Five or six minutes passed, but he waited 
without impatience; then at last the sound 
of a carriage stopping before the house 
caused him to lift his head, and at the same 
instant Eve appeared at the top of the stair- 
case. 

She stood there for a second, looking 
down on him, her maid a pace or two behind, 
holding her cloak. The picture she made 
struck upon his mind with something of a 
revelation. 

On his first sight of her she had appealed 
to him as a strange blending of youth and 
self - possession — a girl with a woman’s 
clearer perception of life; later, he had been 
drawn to study her in other aspects — as a 
possible comrade and friend ; now for the 
first time he saw her as a power in her own 
world, a woman to whom no man could deny 
consideration. She looked taller for the dis- 
tance between them, and the distinction of 
her carriage added to the effect. Her black 
gown was exquisitely soft — as soft as her 
black hair; above her forehead was a cluster 
of splendid diamonds shaped like a coronet, 
and a band of the same stones encircled her 
neck. Loder realized in a glance that only 
the most distinguished of women could wear 
such ornaments and not have her beauty 
eclipsed. With a touch of the old awkward- 
ness that had before assailed him in her 
presence, he came slowly forward as she de- 
scended the stairs. 

“Can I help you with your cloak ?” he 
asked. And as he asked it, something like sur- 
prise at his own timidity crossed his mind. 

For a second Eve’s glance rested on his 
face. Her expression was quite impassive, 
but as she lowered her lashes a faint gleam 
flickered across her eyes ; nevertheless, her 
answer, w T hen it came, was studiously cour- 
teous. 

“ Thank you,” she said, “ but Marie will do 
all I want. Has the carriage come round, 
Crapham?” she added, turning to the foot- 
man who stood waiting beside the door. 


THE MASQUERADER 


475 


Loder looked at her for a moment, then 
turned aside. He was not hurt by his rebuff ; 
rather, by an interesting sequence of im- 
pressions, he was stirred by it. The pride 
that had refused Chilcote’s help, and the 
self-control that had refused it graciously, 
moved him to admiration. He understood 
and appreciated both by the light of personal 
experience. 

“ The carriage is waiting, sir !” Crapham’s 
voice broke in. 

Loder nodded, and Eve turned to her maid. 
“ That will do, Marie !” she said. “ I shall 
want a cup of chocolate when I get back — 
probably at one o’clock.” She drew her cloak 
about her shoulders and moved towards the 
door. Then she paused and looked back. 
“ Shall we start ?” she asked, quietly. 

Loder, still watching her, came forward at 
once. “ Certainly,” he said, with unusual 
gentleness. 

He followed her as she crossed the foot- 
path, but made no further offer of help; and 
when the moment came, he quietly took his 
place beside her in the carriage. His last im- 
pression, as the horses wheeled round, was of 
the open hall door — Crapham in his sombre 
livery and the maid in her black dress, both 
silhouetted against the dark background of 
the hall; then, as the carriage moved forward 
smoothly and rapidly, he leant back in his 
seat and closed his eyes. 

During the first few moments of the drive 
there was silence. To Loder there was a 
strange, new sensation in this companionship 
so close and yet so distant. He was so near 
to Eve that the slight fragrant scent from 
her clothes might almost have belonged to 
his own. The impression was confusing, yet 
vaguely delightful. It was years since he 
had been so close to a woman of his own 
class — his own caste. He acknowledged the 
thought with a curious sense of pleasure. 
Involuntarily he turned and looked at her. 

She was sitting very straight — her cloak 
thrown back, her fine profile cut clear against 
the carriage window, her diamonds quivering 
in the light that flashed by them from the 
street. For a space the sense of unreality 
that had pervaded his first entrance into 
Chilcote’s life touched him again, then an- 
other and more potent feeling rose to quell 
it. Almost involuntarily as he looked at her 
his lips parted. 

“ May I say something ?” he asked. 

Eve remained motionless. She did not 


turn her head, as most women would have 
done. “ Say anything you like,” she said, 
gravely. 

“ Anything ?” He bent a little nearer, filled 
again by the inordinate wish to dominate. 

“ Of course.” It seemed to him that her 
voice sounded forced and a little tired. For 
a moment he looked through the window at 
the passing lights; then slowly his gaze re- 
turned to her face. 

“ You look very beautiful to-night,” he 
said. His voice was low and his manner 
unemotional, but his words had the effect he 
desired. 

She turned her head, and her eyes met his 
in a glance of curiosity and surprise. 

Slight as the triumph was, it thrilled him. 
The small scene with Chilcote’s valet came 
back to him; his own personality moved him 
again to a reckless determination to make his 
own voice heard. Leaning forward, he laid 
his hand lightly on her arm. 

“ Eve,” he said, quickly. “ Eve, do you re- 
member — ” Then he paused and withdrew 
his hand. The horses had slackened speed, 
then stopped altogether as the carriage fell 
into line outside Lord BramfelFs house. 

CHAPTER XIV 

L ODER entered Lady BramfelFs feeling 
far more like an actor in a drama than 
an ordinary man in a peculiar situa- 
tion. It was the first time he had played 
Chilcote to a purely social audience, and the 
first time for many years that he had rubbed 
shoulders with a well-dressed crowd ostensi- 
bly brought together for amusement. As he 
followed Eve along the corridor that led to 
the reception-rooms he questioned the reality 
of the position again and again ; then 
abruptly, at the moment when the sensation 
of unfamiliarity was strongest, a cheery 
voice hailed him, and turning, he saw the 
square shoulders, light eyes, and pointed mus- 
tache of Lakeley, the owner of the St. 
George's Gazette. 

At the sight of the man and the sound of 
his greeting his doubts and speculations van- 
ished. The essentials of life rose again to the 
position they had occupied three weeks ago, in 
the short but strenuous period when his dor- 
mant activities had been stirred and he had 
recognized his true self. He lifted his head 
unconsciously, the shade of misgiving that 
had crossed his confidence passing from him 


476 


HARPERS BAZAR 


as he smiled at Lakeley with a keen, alert 
pleasure that altered his whole face. 

Eve, looking back, saw the expression. It 
attracted and held her, like a sudden glimpse 
into a secret room. In all the years of her 
marriage, in the months of her courtship even, 
she had never surprised the look on Chil- 
cote’s face. The impression came quickly, 
and with it a strange, warm rush of interest 
that receded slowly, leaving an odd sense of 
loneliness. But at the moment that the feel- 
ing came and passed her attention was 
claimed in another direction. A slight, fair- 
haired boy forced his way towards her 
through the press of people that filled the 
corridor. 

“ Mrs. Chilcote !” he exclaimed. “Can I 
believe my luck in finding you alone?” 

Eve laughed. It seemed that there was re- 
lief in her laugh. “How absurd you are, 
Bobby !” she said, kindly. “ But you are 
wrong. My husband is here, — I am waiting 
for him.” 

Blessington looked round. “Oh!” he said. 
“ Indeed !” Then he relapsed into silence. 
He was the soul of good-nature, but those who 
knew him best knew that Chilcote’s summary 
change of secretaries had rankled. Eve, con- 
scious of the little jar, made haste to 
smooth it away. 

“ Tell me about yourself !” she said. “ What 
have you been doing ? y 

Blessington looked at her, then smiled 
again, his buoyancy restored. “Doing?” he 
said. “ Oh, calling every other afternoon at 
Grosvenor Square — only to find that a certain 
lady is never at home.” 

At his tone Eve laughed again. The boy 
with his frank and ingenuous nature had be- 
guiled many a dull hour for her in past days, 
and she had missed him not a little when his 
place had been filled by Greening. 

“ But I mean seriously, Bobby. Has some- 
thing good turned up ?” 

Blessington made a wry face. “ Something 
is on its way — that’s why I am on duty to- 
night. Old Bramfell and the pater are work- 
ing it between them. So if Lady Bramfell 
or Lady Astrupp happen to drop a fan or a 
handkerchief this evening, I’ve got to be here 
to pick it up. See?” 

“ As you picked up my fans and handker- 
chiefs last year — and the year before?” Eve 
smiled. 

Blessington’s face suddenly looked grave. 
“ I wish you hadn’t said that,” he said. Then 


he paused abruptly. Out of the hum of talk 
behind them a man’s laugh sounded. It was 
not loud, but it was a laugh that one seldom 
hears in a London drawing - room — it ex- 
pressed interest, amusement, and in an inex- 
plicable way it seemed also to express strength. 

Eve and Blessington both turned involun- 
tarily. 

“ By J ove !” said Blessington. 

Eve said nothing. 

Loder was parting with Lakeley, and his 
was the laugh that had attracted them both. 
The interest excited by his talk was still 
reflected in his face and bearing as he made 
his way towards them. 

“By Jove!” said Blessington again. “I 
never realized that Chilcote was so tall.” 

Again Eve said nothing. But silently and 
with a more subtle meaning she found her- 
self echoing Blessington’s words. 

Until he was quite close to her, Loder did 
not seem to see her. Then he stopped quietly. 

“ I was speaking to Lakeley,” he said. “ He 
wants me to dine with him one night at 
Cadogan Gardens.” 

But Eve was silent, waiting for him to ad- 
dress Blessington. She glanced at him quick- 
ly, but though their eyes met he did not 
catch the meaning that lay in hers. It was 
a difficult moment. She had known him in- 
credibly, almost unpardonably, absent-mind- 
ed, but it had invariably been when he was 
suffering from “ nerves,” as she phrased it to 
herself. But to-night he was obviously in the 
possession of unclouded faculties. She color- 
ed slightly and glanced under her lashes at 
Blessington. Had the same idea struck him, 
she wondered. But he was studiously study- 
ing a suit of Chinese armor that stood close 
by in a niche of the wall. 

“ Bobby has been keeping me amused while 
you talked to Mr. Lakeley,” she said, 
pointedly. 

Directly addressed, Loder turned and look- 
ed at Blessington. “ How d’you do ?” he said, 
with doubtful cordiality. The name of Bobby 
conveyed nothing to him. 

To his surprise. Eve looked annoyed, and 
Blessington’s fresh-colored face deepened in 
tone. With a slow, uncomfortable sensation 
he was aware of having struck a wrong note. 

There was a short, unpleasant pause. Then, 
more by intuition than actual sight, Blessing- 
ton saw Eve’s eyes turn from him to Loder, 
and with quick tact he saved the situation. 

“How d’you do, sir?” he responded, with 


THE MASQUERADER 


477 



a smile. “I congratu- 
late you on looking so 
— so uncommon well. 

I was just telling Mrs. 

Chilcote that I hold a 
commission for Lady 
Bramfell to-night. I’m 
a sort of scout at pres- 
ent — reporting on the 
outposts.” He spoke 
fast and without much 
meaning, but his boyish 
voice eased the strain. 

Eve thanked him with 
a smile. “ Then we 
mustn’t interfere with 
a person on active serv- 
ice,” she said. “ Be- 
sides, we have our own 
duties to get through.” 

She smiled again, and, 
touching Loder’s arm, 
indicated the reception- 
rooms. 

When they entered 
the larger of the two 
rooms Lady Bramfell 
was still receiving her 
guests. She was a tall 
and angular woman 
who, except for a cer- 
tain beauty of hands 
and feet and a certain 
similarity of voice, pos- 
sessed nothing in com- 
mon with her sister 
Lillian. She was speak- 
ing to a group of people 
as they approached, and 
the first sound of her 

sweet and rather drawling tones touched 
Loder with a curious momentary feeling — 
a vague suggestion of awakened memories. 
Then the suggestion vanished as she turned 
and greeted Eve. 

“ LIow sweet of you to come !” she mur- 
mured. And it seemed to Loder that a more 
spontaneous smile lighted up her face. Then 
she extended her hand to him. “And you 
too !” she added. “ Though I fear we shall 
bore you dreadfully.” 

• Watching her with interest, he saw the 
change of expression as her eyes turned from 
Eve to him, and noticed a colder tone in her 
voice as she addressed him directly. The ob- 
servation moved him to self-assertion. 


Drawn by CLARENCE h. UNDERWOOD. 

BUT EVE WAS SILENT, WAITING FOR HIM TO ADDRESS BLESSINGTON. 


“ That’s a poor compliment to me,” he said. 
“To he bored is surely only a polite way of 
being inane.” 

Lady Bramfell smiled. “What!” she ex- 
claimed. “You defending your social repu- 
tation ?” 

Loder laughed a little. “ The smaller it is, 
the more defending it needs,” he replied. 

Another stream of arrivals swept by them 
as he spoke; Eve smiled at their hostess and 
moved across the room, and he perforce fol- 
lowed. As he gained her side the little court 
about Lady Bramfell was left well in the 
rear, the great throng at the farther end of 
the room was not yet reached, and for the 
moment they were practically alone. 


478 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


There was a certain uneasiness in that mo- 
ment of companionship. It seemed to him 
that Eve wished to speak, but hesitated. 
Once or twice she opened and closed the fan 
that she was carrying, then at last, as if by 
an effort, she turned and looked at him. 

“ Why were you so cold to Bobby Blessing- 
ton?’ 5 she asked. “ Doesn’t it seem discour- 
teous to ignore him as you did?” 

Her manner was subdued. It was not the 
annoyed manner that one uses to a man 
when he has behaved ill ; it was the ex- 
planatory tone one might adopt towards an 
incorrigible child. Loder felt this; but the 
gist of a remark always came to him first — 
its mode of expression later. The fact that it 
was Blessington whom he had encountered — 
Blessington to whom he had spoken with 
vague politeness — came to him with a sense of 
unpleasantness. He was not to blame in the 
matter, nevertheless he blamed himself. He 
was annoyed that he should have made the 
slip in Eve’s presence. 

They were moving forward, nearing the 
press of people in the second room, when Eve 
spoke, and the fact filled him with an added 
sense of annoyance. People smiled and bowed 
to her from every side; one woman leant for- 
ward as they passed and whispered something 
in her ear. Again the sensation of futility 
and vexation filled him ; again he realized 
how palpable was the place she held in the 
world. Then, as his feelings reached their 
height and speech seemed forced upon 
him, a small man with a round, red face, 
catching a glimpse of Eve, darted from a 
circle of people gathered in one of the win- 
dows and came quickly towards them. With 
an unjust touch of irritation he recognized 
Lord Bramfell. 

Again the sense of Eve’s aloofness stung 
him as their host approached. In another mo- 
ment she would be lost to him amongst this 
throng of strangers — claimed by them as 
by right. 

“ Eve — ” he said, involuntarily and under 
his breath. 

She half paused and turned towards him. 
“Yes?” she said; and he wondered if it was 
his imagination that made the word sound 
slightly eager. 

“About that matter of Blessington — ” he 
began. Then he stopped. Bramfell had 
reached them. 

The little man came up smiling and with 
an outstretched hand. “ There’s no penalty 


for separating husband and wife, is there, 
Mrs. Chilcote ? How are you, Chilcote ?” He 
turned from one to the other with the quick, 
noiseless manner that always characterized 
him. 

Loder turned aside to hide his vexation, 
but Eve greeted their host with her usual self- 
possessed smile. 

“ You are exempt from all penalties to- 
night,” she said. Then she turned to greet 
the members of his party who had strolled 
across from the window in his wake. 

As she moved aside Bramfell looked at 
Loder. “ W ell, Chilcote, have you dipped 
into the future yet?” he asked, with a laugh. 

Loder echoed the laugh but said nothing. 
In his uncertainty at the question he re- 
verted to his old resource of silence. 

Bramfell raised his eyebrows. “ What !” he 
said. “ Don’t tell me that my sister-in-law 
hasn’t engaged you as a victim.” Then he 
turned in Eve’s direction. “ You’ve heard of 
our new departure, Mrs. Chilcote?” 

Eve looked round from the lively group by 
which she was surrounded. “ Lady Astrupp’s 
crystal-gazing ? Why, of course!” she said. 
“ She should make a very beautiful seer. We 
are all quite curious.” 

Bramfell pursed up his lips. “ She has a 
very beautiful tent at the end of the conserv- 
atory. It took five men as many days to 
rig it up. We couldn’t hear ourselves talk, 
for hammering. My wife said it made her 
feel quite philanthropic, it reminded her so 
much of a charity bazar.” 

Everybody laughed; and at the same mo- 
ment Blessington came quickly across the 
room and joined the group. 

“Hallo!” he said. “Anybody seen Wit- 
cheston ? He’s next on my list for the crystal 
business.” 

Again the whole party laughed, and Bram- 
fell, stepping forward, touched Blessington’s 
arm in mock seriousness. 

“ Witcheston is playing bridge like a sensi- 
ble man,” he said. “Leave him in peace, 
Bobby.” 

Blessington made a comical grimace. “ But 
I’m working this on commercial principles,” 
he said. “ I keep the list, names and hours 
complete, and Lady Astrupp gazes, in blissful 
ignorance as to who her victims are. The 
whole thing is great — simple and statistical.” 

“Eor goodness’ sake, Bobby, shut up!” 
Bramfell’s round eyes were twinkling with 
amusement. 


THE MASQUERADER 


479 


“ But my system — ” 

“ Systems ! Ah, we all had them when we 
were as young as you are !” 

“ And they all had flaws, Bobby,” Eve broke 
in. “We were always finding gaps that had 
to be filled up. Never mind about Lord Wit- 
cheston. Get a substitute; it won’t count — if 
Lady Astrupp doesn’t know.” 

Blessington wavered as she spoke. His eyes 
wandered round the party, and again rested 
on Bramfell. 

“ Not me, Bobby! Bemember I’ve breathed 
crystals — practically lived on them — for the 
last week. Now, there’s Chilcote — ” Again 
his eyes twinkled. 

All eyes were turned on Loder, though one 
or two strayed surreptitiously to Eve. She, 
seeming sensitive to the position, laughed 
quickly. 

“ A very good idea !” she said, hastily. 
“ Who wants to see the future, if not a poli- 
tician ?” 

Loder glanced from her to Blessington. 
Then, with a very feminine impulse, she 
settled the matter beyond dispute. 

“ Please use your authority, Bobby,” she 
said. “ And when you’ve got him safely 
under canvas, come back to me. It’s years 
since we’ve had a talk.” She nodded and 
smiled, then instantly turned to Bramfell 
with some trivial remark. 

For a second Loder waited, then with a 
movement of resignation he laid his hand on 
Blessington ’s arm. “ Very well!” he said. 
“But if my fate is black, witness it was my 
wife who sent me to it.” His faint pause on 
the word wife, the mention of the word itself 
in the presence of these people, had a savor 
of recklessness. The small discomfiture of 
his earlier slip vanished before it; he ex- 
perienced a strong reaction of confidence in 
his luck. With a cool head, a steady step, and 
a friendly pressure of the fingers on Bless- 
ington’s arm, he allowed himself to be drawn 
across the reception-rooms, through the long 
corridors, and down the broad flight of steps 
that led to the conservatory. 

The conservatory was a feature of the 
Bramfell town house, and to Loder it came 
as something wonderful and unlooked-for — 
with its clustering green branches, its slight, 
unoppressive scents, its temperately pleasant 
atmosphere. He felt no wish to speak as, 
still guided by Blessington, he passed down 
the shadowy paths that in the half-light had 
the warmth and mystery of a southern gar- 


den. Here and there from the darkness came 
the whispering of a voice or the sound of a 
laugh, bringing with them the necessary 
touch of life. Otherwise the place was still. 

Absorbed by the air of solitude, contrast- 
ing so remarkably with the noise and crowded 
glitter left behind in the reception-rooms, he 
had moved half-way down the long green aisle 
before the business in hand came back to 
him with a sudden sense of annoyance. It 
seemed so paltry to mar the quiet of the 
place with the absurdity of a side-show. He 
turned to Blessington with a touch of abrupt- 
ness. 

“ What am I expected to do ?” he asked. 

Blessington looked up, surprised. “ Why, I 
thought, sir — ” he began. Then he instantly 
altered his tone. “ Oh, just enter into the 
spirit of the thing. Lady Astrupp won’t put 
much strain on your credulity, but she’ll 
make a big call on your solemnity.” He 
laughed. 

He had an infectious laugh, and Loder re- 
sponded to it. 

“ But what am I to do ?” he persisted. 

“ Oh, nothing, sir. Being the priestess, she 
naturally demands acolytes; but she’ll let you 
know that she holds the prior place. The 
tent is so fixed that she sees nothing beyond 
your hands ; so there’s absolutely no de- 
lusion.” He laughed once more. Then sud- 
denly he lowered his voice and slackened his 
steps. “ Here we are !” he whispered, in pre- 
tended awe. 

At the end of the path the space widened 
to the full breadth of the conservatory. The 
light was dimmer, giving an added impression 
of distance ; away to the left Loder heard the 
sound of splashing water, and on his right 
hand he caught his first glimpse of the tent 
that was his goal. 

It was an artistic little structure — a pa- 
vilion formed of silky fabric that showed 
bronze in the light of an Oriental lamp that 
hung above its entrance. As they drew 
closer a man emerged from it. He stood for 
a moment in uncertainty, looking about him; 
then catching sight of them, he came forward 
laughing. 

“ By George !” he exclaimed, “ it’s as dark 
as limbo in there! I didn’t see you at first. 
But I say, Blessington, it’s a beastly shame to 
have that thunder-cloud barrier shutting off 
the sorceress. If she gazes at the crystal, 
mayn’t we have something to gaze at too?” 

Blessington laughed. “ You want too 


480 


HARPERS BAZAR 


much, Galltry,” he said. “Lady Astrupp 
understands the value of the unattainable. 
Come along, sir!” he added to Loder, draw- 
ing him forward with an energetic pressure of 
the arm. 

Loder responded, and as he did so a flicker 
of curiosity touched his mind for the first 
time. He wondered for an instant who this 
woman was who aroused so much comment. 
And with the speculation came the remem- 
brance of how he had assured Chilcote that on 
one point at least he was invulnerable. He 
had spoken then from the height of a past ex- 
perience — an experience so fully passed that 
he wondered now if it had been as staple a 
guarantee as he had then believed. Man’s 
capacity for outliving is astonishingly com- 
plete. The long-ago incident in the Italian 
mountains had faded, like a crayon study in 
which the tones have merged and gradually 
lost character. The past had paled before the 
present — as golden hair might pale before 
black. The simile came with apparent ir- 
relevance. Then again Blessington pressed 
his arm. 

“Now, sir!” he said, drawing away and 
lifting the curtain that hung before the en- 
trance of the tent. 

Loder looked at the amused, boyish face 
lighted by the hanging lamp, and smiled 
pleasantly, then with a shrug of the shoul- 
ders he entered the pavilion, and the curtain 
fell behind him. 

CHAPTER XV 

O N entering the pavilion, Loder’s first 
feeling was one of annoyed awkward- 
ness at finding himself in almost total 
darkness. Then, as his eyes grew accustomed 
to the gloom, the feeling vanished and the 
absurdity of the position came to his mind. 

The tent was small, heavily draped with 
silk and smelling of musk. It was divided 
into two sections by an immovable curtain 
that hung from the roof to within a few feet 
of the floor. The only furniture on Loder’s 
side was one low chair, and the only light a 
faint radiance that, coming from the invisible 
half of the pavilion, spread across the floor in 
a pale band. Eor a short space he stood 
uncertain, then his hesitation was brought to 
an end. 

“Please sit down,” said a low, soft voice. 
Eor a further moment he stood undecided. 
The voice sounded so unexpectedly near. In 


the quiet and darkness of the place it seemed 
to possess a disproportionate weight — almost 
the weight of a familiar thing. Then with a 
sudden, unanalyzed touch of relief he located 
the impression. It was the similarity to Lady 
Bramfell’s sweet, slow tones that had stirred 
his mind. With a sense of satisfaction he 
drew the chair forward and sat down. 

Then for the first time he saw that on the 
other side of the gauze partition, and below it 
by a few inches, was a small table of polished 
wood, on which stood an open book, a crystal 
ball, and a gold dish filled with ink. These 
were arranged on the side of the table nearest 
to him, the further side being out of his range 
of vision. An amused interest touched him 
as he made his position more comfortable. 
Whoever this woman was, she had an eye 
for stage management, she knew how to mar- 
shal her effects. He found himself waiting 
with some curiosity for the next injunction 
from behind the curtain. 

“ The art of crystal-gazing,” began the 
sweet, slow voice after a pause, “ is one of the 
oldest known arts.” Loder sat forward. The 
thought of Lady Bramfell mingled discon- 
certingly with some other thought more dis- 
tant and less easy to secure. 

“To obtain the best results,” went on the 
seer, “ the subject lays his uncovered hands 
outspread upon a smooth surface.” It was 
evident that the invisible priestess was read- 
ing from the open book, for when the word 
“ surface ” was reached there was a slight stir 
that indicated the changing of position; and 
when the voice came again it was in a differ- 
ent tone. 

“ Please lay your hands, palms downwards, 
upon the table.” 

Loder smiled to himself in the darkness. 
He pictured Chilcote with his nerves and his 
impatience going through this ordeal; then in 
good-humored silence he leant forward and 
obeyed the command. His hands rested on 
the smooth surface of the table in the bar of 
light from the unseen lamp. 

There was a second in which the seer was 
silent; then he fancied that she raised her 
head. 

“ You must take off your rings,” she said, 
smoothly. “ Any metal interferes with the 
sympathetic current.” 

At any other time Loder would have laugh- 
ed; but the request so casually and graciously 
made sent all possibility of irony far into the 
background. The thought of Chilcote and of 


THE MASQUERADER 


481 



Drawn by CLARENCE F. UNDERWOOD. 

HIS HANDS RESTED ON THE SMOOTH SURFACE OF THE TABLE. 


the one flaw in their 
otherwise flawless scheme 
rose to his mind. In- 
stinctively he half with- 
drew his hands. 

“ Where is the sympa- 
thetic current ?” he asked, 
quietly. His thoughts 
were busy with the ques- 
tion of whether he would 
or would not be justified 
in beating an undignified 
retreat. 

“ Between you and me, 
of course,” said the voice, 
softly. It sounded lan- 
guid, but very rational. 

The idea of retreat seem- 
ed suddenly theatrical. 

In this world of low 
voices and shaded lights 
people never adopted ex- 
treme measures — no occa- 
sion made a scene practi- 
cable, or even allowable. 

He leant back slowly, 
while he summed up the 
situation. If by any un- 
lucky chance this woman 
knew Chilcote to have 
adopted jewelry and had 
seen the designs of his 
rings, the sight of his 
own scarred finger would 
suggest question and 
comment ; if, on the other 
hand, he left the pavilion 
without excuse, or if, 
without apparent reason, 
he refused to remove the rings, he opened up a 
new difficulty — a fresh road to curiosity. It 
came upon him with unusual quickness — the 
obstacles to, and the need for, a speedy de- 
cision. He glanced round the tent, then un- 
consciously he straightened his shoulders. 
After all, he had stepped into a tight corner, 
but there was no need to cry out in squeezing 
his way back. Then he realized that the soft, 
ingratiating tones were sounding once more: 

“It’s the passing of my hands over yours, 
while I look into the crystal, that sets up 
sympathy ” — a slender hand moved swiftly 
into the light and picked up the ball — “ and 
makes my eyes see the pictures in your mind. 
Now, will you please take off your rings?” 

The very naturalness of the request dis- 

VOL. XXXVIII. — 31. 


armed him. It was a risk. But, as Chilcote 
had said, risk was the salt of life ! 

“I’m afraid you think me very trouble- 
some.” The voice came again, delicately low 
and conciliatory. 

For a brief second Loder wondered uncer- 
tainly how long or how well Chilcote knew 
Lady Astrupp ; then he dismissed the question. 
Chilcote had never mentioned her until to- 
night, and then casually as Lady Bramfell’s 
sister. What a coward he was becoming in 
throwing the dice with Fate! Without 
further delay he drew off the rings, slipped 
them into his pocket, and replaced his hands 
on the smooth table- top. 

Then, at the moment that he replaced them, 
a peculiar thing occurred. 


482 


HARPERS BAZAR 


From the further side of the dark partition 
came the quick rustling stir of a skirt, and 
the slight scrape of a chair pushed either 
backward or forward. Then there was si- 
lence. 

Now silence can suggest anything, from 
profound thought to imbecility; but in this 
case its suggestion was nil. That something 
had happened, that some change had taken 
place, was as patent to Loder as the darkness 
of the ceiling or the band of light that crossed 
the floor, but what had occasioned it or what 
it stood for he made no attempt to decide. He 
sat bitingly conscious of his hands spread 
open on the table under the scrutiny of eyes 
that were invisible to him — vividly aware of 
the awkwardness of his position. He felt with 
instinctive certainty that a new chord had 
been struck; but a man seldom acts on in- 
stinctive certainties. If the exposure of his 
hands had struck this fresh note, then any 
added action would but heighten the di- 
lemma. He sat silent and motionless. 

Whether his impassivity had any bearing 
on the moment, he had no way of knowing; 
but no further movement came from behind 
the partition. Whatever the emotions that 
had caused the sharp swish of skirts and the 
sharp scrape of the chair, they had evidently 
subsided or been dominated by other feelings. 

The next indication of life that came to 
him was the laying down of the crystal ball. It 
was laid back upon the table with a slight jerk 
that indicated a decision come to ; and almost 
simultaneously the seer’s voice came to him 
again. Her tone was lower now than it had 
been before, and its extreme ease seemed 
slightly shaken — whether by excitement, sur- 
prise, or curiosity, it was impossible to say. 

“You will think it strange — ” she began. 
“ You will think — ” Then she stopped. 

There was a pause, as though she waited for 
some help, but Loder remained mute. In 
difficulty a silent tongue and a cool head are 
usually man’s best weapons. 

His silence was disconcerting. He heard 
her stir again. 

“You will think it strange — ” she began 
once more. Then quite suddenly she checked 
and controlled her voice. “ You must forgive 
me for what I am going to say,” she said, in 
a completely different tone, “but crystal- 
gazing is such an illusive thing. Directly 
you put your hands upon the table I felt that 
there would be no result; but I wouldn’t ad- 
mit the defeat. Women are such keen 


anglers that they can never acknowledge that 
any fish, however big, has slipped the hook.” 
She laughed softly. 

At the sound of the laugh Loder shifted 
his position for the first time. He could not 
have told why, but it struck him with a slight 
sense of confusion. A precipitate wish to rise 
and pass through the doorway into the wider 
spaces of the conservatory came to him, 
though he made no attempt to act upon it. 
He knew that, for some inexplicable reason, 
this woman behind the screen had lied to him 
— in the controlling of her speech, in her 
change of voice. There had been one moment 
in which an impulse or an emotion, had al- 
most found voice; then training, instinct, or 
it might have been diplomacy, had conquered, 
and the moment had passed. There was a 
riddle in the very atmosphere of the place — 
and he abominated riddles. 

But Lady Astrupp was absorbed in her own 
concerns. Again she changed her position; 
and to Loder, listening attentively, it seemed 
that she leant forward and examined his 
hands afresh. The sensation was so acute 
that he withdrew them involuntarily. 

Again there was a confused rustle; the 
crystal ball rolled from the table, and the 
seer laughed quickly. Obeying a strenuous 
impulse, Loder rose. 

He had no definite notion of what he ex- 
pected or what he must avoid. He was only 
conscious that the pavilion, with its silk 
draperies, its scent of musk, and its intolera- 
ble secrecy was no longer endurable. He 
felt cramped and confused in mind and 
muscle. He stood for a second to straighten 
his limbs; then he turned, and moving di- 
rectly forward, passed through the portiere. 

After the dimness of the pavilion, the con- 
servatory seemed comparatively bright; but 
without waiting to grow accustomed to the 
altered light, he moved onward with de- 
liberate haste. The long green alley was 
speedily traversed; in his eyes it no longer 
possessed greenness, no longer suggested 
freshness or repose. It was simply a means to 
the end upon which his mind was set. 

As he passed up the flight of steps he drew 
his rings from his pocket and slipped them 
on again. Then he stepped into the glare 
of the thronged corridor. 

Some one hailed him as he passed through 
it, but with Chilcote’s most absorbed manner 
he hurried on. Through the door of the sup- 
per-room he caught sight of Blessington and 


TEE MASQUERADER 


483 


Eve, and then for the first time his expression 
changed. He walked directly towards them. 

“ Eve,” he said, “ will you excuse me ? I 
have a word to say to Blessington.” 

She glanced at him in momentary surprise ; 
then she smiled in her quiet, self-possessed 
way. 

“ Of course !” she said. “ I’ve been wanting 
a chat with Millicent Gower, but Bobby has 
required so much entertaining — ” She smiled 
again, this time at Blessington, and moved 
away towards a pale girl in green who was 
standing alone. 

Instantly she had turned, Loder took Bless- 
ington’s arm. 

“ I know you’re tremendously busy,” he be- 
gan, in an excellent imitation of Chilcote’s 
hasty manner — “ I know you’re tremendously 
busy, but I’m in a fix.” One glance at Bless- 
ington’s healthy, ingenuous face told him 
that plain speaking was the method to 
adopt. 

“ Indeed, sir?” In a moment Blessington 
was on the alert. 

u Yes. And I — I want your help.” 

The boy reddened. That Chilcote should 
appeal to him stirred him to an uneasy feel- 
ing of pride and uncertainty. 

Loder saw his advantage and pressed it 
home. “ It’s come about through this crystal- 
gazing business. I’m afraid I didn’t play my 
part — rather made an ass of myself; I 
wouldn’t swallow the thing, and — and Lady 
Astrupp — ” He paused, measuring Blessing- 
ton with a glance. “ Well, my dear boy, you 
— you know what women are !” 

Blessington was only twenty - three. He 
reddened again, and assumed an air of pro- 


fundity. “ I know, sir,” he said, with a shake 
of the head. 

Loder’s sense of humor was keen, but he 
kept a grave face. “ I knew you’d catch my 
meaning; but I want you to do something 
more. If Lady Astrupp should ask you who 
was in her tent this past ten minutes, I want 
you — ” Again he stopped, looking at his com- 
panion’s face. 

“ Yes, sir?” 

“I want you to tell an immaterial lie for 
me.” 

Blessington returned his glance; then he 
laughed a little uncomfortably. “ But surely, 
sir — ” 

“ She recognized me, you mean ?” Loder’s 
eyes were as keen as steel. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then you’re wrong. She didn’t.” 

Blessington’s eyebrows went up. 

There was silence. Loder glanced across 
the room. Eve had parted from the girl in 
green, and was moving towards them, ex- 
changing smiles and greetings as she came. 

“ My wife is coming back,” he said. “ Will 
you do this for me, Blessington? It — it will 
smooth things — ” He spoke quickly, con- 
tinuing to watch Eve. As he had hoped, 
Blessington’s eyes turned in the same direc- 
tion. “ ’Twill smooth matters,” he repeated, 
“ smooth them in — in a domestic way that I 
can’t explain.” 

The shot told. Blessington looked round. 

“ Bight, sir!” he said. “ You may leave it 
to me.” And before Loder could speak again, 
he had turned and disappeared into the 
crowd. 

[to be continued.] 




484 


HARPER’S BAZAR 



R^O S 


BY 


E> XT 

CLARENCE 


URMY 


The day is fair with golden glow, song stirs the brooklet's lip. 
And down the leafy avenues gay swallows dart and dip ; 

A balmy odor scents the air, soft winds low-laden bring 
The breath of violets — and yet, one cannot help remembering ! 

The lamps are lit, the blazing fire paints fancies on the floor. 
Close by the hearth I sit and hold a book of poet-lore ; 

I part the curtains, peaceful stars their benediction bring, 

Across the sea the moon — and yet, one cannot help remembering ! 


JACK-IN-THE-BOX AND BABY 


559 


But, oh! what hurts his feelings worst of all 
it is to see 

The Baby pet black Dinah — she is uglier than 
he! 

In fact, she is as frightful as a home-made 
doll can be — 

More hardly could be said! 

Yet Baby worships Di- 
nah — Night is rob- 
bed of its alarms 

When Baby cuddles Dinah in her little dimpled arms* 

Well may Jack weep within the box that hides his gaudy charms 
When baby goes to bed! 



Still, Jack is brave and patient : hope renewed gleams in his eye 
Each time reluctant Baby is 
cajoled once more to try 




The hook that holds in check his 
innate tendency to fly — 
But there's no 
change, alack! 


He always jumps at her as if he 
meant to hit the ceiling — 
He glares so fiercely, who could 
guess he means to be ap- 
pealing? 

Alas for us who only can express 
our deepest feeling 

Mistakenly, like Jack! 




560 


HARPERS BAZAR 



gg; 


CHAPTER XVI 
IS business with Blessington 
over, Loder breathed more 
freely. If Lady Astrupp had 
recognized Chilcote by the 
rings, and had been roused to 
curiosity, the incident would 
demand settlement sooner or later — settle- 
ment in what proportion he could hazard 
no guess; if, on the other hand, her obvious 
change of manner had arisen from any other 
source — he had a hazy idea that a woman’s 
behavior could never be gauged by accepted 
theories, — then he had safeguarded Chilcote’s 
interests and his own by his securing of Bless- 
ington’s promise. Blessington he knew would 
be reliable and discreet. With a renewal of 
confidence — a pleasant feeling that his un- 
easiness had been groundless — he moved for- 
ward to greet Eve. 

Her face, with its rich, clear coloring, 
seemed to his gaze to stand out from the 
crowd of other faces as from a frame, and a 
sense of pride touched him. In every eye 
but his own, her beauty belonged to him. 

His face looked alive and masterful as she 
reached his side. “ May I monopolize you ?” 
he said, with the quickness of speech borrow- 
ed from Chilcote. “ We — we see so little of 
each other.” 

Almost as if compelled, her lashes lifted 
and her eyes met his. Her glance was 
puzzled, uncertain, slightly confused. There 
was a deeper color than usual in her cheeks. 
Loder felt something within his own con- 
sciousness stir in response. 

“ You know you are yielding,” he said. 

Again she blushed. 

Begun in Harper’s Bazar No.i., Vol. XXXVIII. 


He saw the blush, and knew that it was he 
— his words, his personality — that had called 
it forth. In Chilcote’s actual semblance he 
had proved his superiority over Chilcote. Eor 
the first time he had been given a tacit, per- 
sonal acknowledgment of his power. Invol- 
untarily he drew nearer to her. 

“ Let’s get out of this crush.” 

She made no answer except to bend her 
head; and it came to him that, for all her 
pride, she liked — and unconsciously yielded to 
— domination. With a satisfied gesture he 
turned to make a passage towards the door. 

But the passage was more easily desired 
than made. In the few moments since he 
had entered the supper-room the press of 
people had considerably thickened — until a 
block had formed about the doorway. Draw- 
ing Eve with him, he moved forward for a 
dozen paces, then paused, unable to make 
further headway. 

As they stood there, he looked back at her. 
“ What a study in democracy a crowd always 
is!” he said. 

She responded with a bright, appreciative 
glance, as if surprised into naturalness. He 
wondered sharply what she would be like if 
her enthusiasms were really aroused. Then a 
stir in the corridor outside caused a move- 
ment inside the room; and with A certain dis- 
play of persistence he was enabled to make 
a passage to the door. 

But there again they were compelled to 
halt. But though tightly wedged into his 
new position and guarding Eve with one 
arm, Loder was free to survey the brilliantly 
thronged corridor over the head of a man a 
few inches shorter than himself, who stood 
directly in front of him. 




THE MASQUERADER 


561 


“What are we waiting for?” he asked, 
good-humoredly, addressing the back of this 
stranger’s head. 

The man turned, displaying a genial face, a 
red mustache, and an eye-glass. 

“ Hullo, Chilcote !” he said. “ Hope it’s 
not on your feet I’m standing.” 

Loder laughed. “ No,” he said. “ And 
don’t change the position. If you were an 
inch higher I should be blind as well as 
crippled.” 

The other laughed. It was a pleasant sur- 
prise to find Chilcote amiable under discom- 
fort. He looked round again in slight 
curiosity. 

Loder felt the scrutiny. To create a di- 
version he looked out along the corridor. 
“ I believe we are waiting for something,” he 
exclaimed. “ What’s this ?” Then quite 
abruptly he ceased to speak. 

“ Anything interesting ?” Eve touched his 
arm. 

He said nothing; he made no effort to look 
round. His thought as well as his speech 
was suddenly suspended. 

The man in front of him let his eye-glass 
fall from his eye, then screwed it in again. 

“Jove!” he exclaimed. “Here comes our 
sorceress. It’s like the progress of a fairy 
princess. I believe this is the meaning of 
our getting penned in here.” He chuckled 
delightedly. 

Loder said nothing. He stared straight on 
over the other’s head. 

Along the corridor, agreeably conscious of 
the hum of admiration she aroused, came 
Lillian Astrupp, surrounded by a little court. 
Her delicate face was lit up; her eyes shone 
under the faint gleam of her hair; her gown 
of gold embroidery swept round her grace- 
fully. She was radiant and triumphant, but 
she was also' excited. The excitement was 
evident in her laugh, in her gestures, in her 
eyes as they turned quickly in one direction 
and then another. 

Loder, gazing in stupefaction over the other 
man’s head; saw it — felt and understood it 
with a mind that leaped back over a space of 
years. As in a shifting panorama he saw a 
night of disturbance and confusion in a far- 
off Italian valley — a confusion from which 
one face shone out with something of the 
pale, alluring radiance that filtered over the 
hillside from the crescent moon. It passed 
across his consciousness slowly but with a 
slow completeness; and in its light the inci- 

vol. xxxviii. — 36 . 


dents of the past hour stood out in a new 
aspect. The echo of recollection stirred by 
Lady Bramfell’s voice, the reecho of it in 
the sister’s tones, his own blindness, his own 
egregious assurance — all struck across his 
mind. 

Meanwhile the party about Lillian drew 
nearer. He felt with instinctive certainty 
that the supper-room was its destination, but 
he remained motionless, held by a species of 
fatalism. He watched her draw near with an 
unmoved face, but in the brief space that 
passed while she traversed the corridor he 
gauged to the full the hold that the new at- 
mosphere, the new existence, had gained over 
his mind. With an unlooked-for rush of 
feeling he realized how dearly he would part 
with it. 

As Lillian came closer, the meaning of her 
manner became clearer to him. She talked 
incessantly, laughing now and then, but her 
eyes were never quiet. These skimmed the 
length of the corridor, then glanced over the 
heads crowded in the doorway. 

“ I’ll have something quite sweet, Geoffrey,” 
she was saying to the man beside her as she 
came within hearing. “ You know what I 
like — a sort of snowflake wrapped up in 
sugar.” As she said the words her glance 
wandered. Loder saw it rest uninterestedly 
on a boy a yard or two in front of him, then 
move to the man over whose head he gazed, 
then lift itself inevitably to his face. 

The glance was quick and direct. He saw 
the look of recognition spring across it; he 
saw her move forward suddenly as the crowd 
in the corridor parted to let her pass. Then 
he saw what seemed to him a miracle. 

Her whole expression altered, her lips part- 
ed, and she colored with annoyance. She 
looked like a spoilt child who, seeing a bon- 
bon-box, opens it — to find it empty. 

As the press about the doorway melted to 
give her passage, the red-haired man in 
front of Loder was the first to take advantage 
of the space. “Jove! Lillian,” he said, mov- 
ing forward, “you look as if you expected 
Chilcote to be somebody else, and are dis- 
appointed to find he’s only himself!” He 
laughed delightedly at his own joke. 

The words were exactly the tonic that 
Lillian needed. She smiled her usual undis- 
turbed smile as she turned her eyes upon him. 

“ My dear Leonard, you’re using your eye- 
glass ; when that happens you’re never respon- 
sible for what you see.” Her words came 


562 


HARPERS BAZAR 


more slowly and with a touch of languid 
amusement. Her composure was suddenly re- 
stored. 

Then for the first time Loder changed his 
position. Moved by an impulse he made no 
effort to dissect, he stepped back to Eve’s side 
and slipped his arm through hers — success- 
fully concealing his left hand. 

The warmth of her skin through her long 
glove thrilled him unexpectedly. His impulse 
had been one of self-defence, but the result 
was of a different character. At the quick 
contact the wish to fight for — to hold and de- 
fend — the position that had grown so dear 
woke in renewed force. With a new deter- 
mination he turned again towards Lillian. 

“ I caught the same impression — without 
an eye-glass,” he said. “ Why did you look 
like that?” He asked the question steadily 
and with apparent carelessness, though 
through it all his reason stood aghast — his 
common sense cried aloud that it was impossi- 
ble for the eyes that had seen his face in 
admiration, in love, in contempt, to fail now 
in recognition. The air seemed breathless 
while he spoke and waited. His impression 
of Lillian was a mere shimmering of gold 
dress and gold hair; all that he was really 
conscious of was the pressure of his hand on 
Eve’s arm and the warmth of her skin 
through the soft glove. Then abruptly the 
mist lifted. He saw Lillian’s eyes — indif- 
ferent, amused, slightly contemptuous; and a 
second later he heard her voice. 

“My dear Jack,” she said, sweetly, “how 
absurd of you! It was simply the contrast 
of your eyes peering over Leonard’s hair — 
contrast of coloring, you know. It was like 
a gorgeous sunset with a black cloud over- 
head.” She laughed. “ Ho you see what I 
mean, Eve?” She affected to see Eve for the 
first time. 

Eve had been looking calmly ahead. She 
turned now and smiled serenely. Loder felt 
no vibration of the arm he held, yet by an 
instant intuition he knew that the two women 
were antagonistic. He experienced it with 
the divination that follows upon a moment 
of acute suspense. He understood it as he 
had understood Lillian’s look of recognition 
when his forehead, eyes, and nose had shown 
him to be himself, her blank surprise when 
his close-shaven lip and chin had proclaimed 
him Chilcote. 

He felt like a man who has looked into an 
abyss and stepped back from the edge, out- 


wardly calm but mentally shaken. The com- 
monplaces of life seemed for the moment tc 
hold deeper meanings. He did not hear Eve’s 
answer, he paid no heed to Lillian’s next 
remark. He saw her smile and turn to the 
red-haired man; finally he saw her move on 
into the supper-room, followed by her little 
court. Then he pressed the arm he was still 
holding. He felt an urgent need of com- 
panionship — of a human expression to the 
crisis he had passed. 

“ Shall we get out of this ?” he asked again. 

Eve looked up. “ Out of the room ?” she 
said. 

He looked down at her, compelling her 
gaze. “ Out of the room — and the house,” 
he answered. “ Let us go — home.” 

CHAPTER XYII 

T HE necessary formalities of departure 
were speedily got through. The passing 
of the corridors, the gaining of the car- 
riage, seemed to Loder to be marvellously sim- 
ple proceedings. Then, as he sat by Eve’s side 
and again felt the forward movement of the 
horses, he had leisure for the first time to 
wonder whether the time that had passed 
since last he occupied that position had ac- 
tually been lived through. 

Only that night he had unconsciously com- 
pared one incident in his life to a sketch in 
which the lights and shadows have been 
obliterated and lost. Now that picture rose 
before him, startlingly and incredibly intact. 
He saw the sunlit houses of Santasalare, back- 
grounded by the sunlit hills — saw them as 
plainly as when he himself had sketched them 
on his memory. Every detail of the scene re- 
mained the same, even to the central figure; 
only the eye and the hand of the artist had 
changed. 

At this point Eve broke in upon his 
thoughts. Her first words were curiously 
coincidental. 

“ What did you think of Lillian Astrupp to- 
night ?” she asked. “ W asn’t her gown perfect ?” 

Loder lifted his head with an almost guilty 
start. Then he answered straight from 
his thoughts. 

“ I — I didn’t notice it,” he said ; “ but her 
eyes reminded me of a cat’s — and she walk^ 
like a cat. I never seemed to see it — 
until to-night.” 

Eve changed her position. “ She was very 
artistic,” she said, tentatively. “ Don’t you 


THE MASQUERADER 


563 







Drawn by Clarence F. Underwood. 

AS LILLIAN CAME NEARER, THE MEANING OF HER MANNER BECAME CLEARER TO HIM 


564 


HARPERS BAZAR 


think the gold gown was beautiful with her 
pale-colored hair?” 

Loder felt surprised. He was convinced 
that Eve disliked Lillian and he was not 
sufficiently versed in women to understand 
her praise. “ I thought — ” he began. Then 
he wisely stopped. “ I didn’t see the gown,” 
he substituted. 

Eve looked out of the window. “ How un- 
appreciative men are!” she said. But her 
tone was strangely free from censure. 

After this there was silence till Grosvenor 
Square was reached. Having left the carriage 
and passed into the house, Eve paused for a 
moment at the foot of the stairs to give an 
order to Crapham, who was still in attendance 
in the hall; and again Loder had an oppor- 
tunity of studying her. As he looked, a sharp 
comparison rose to his mind. 

“ A fairy princess !” he had heard some 
one say as Lillian Astrupp came into view 
along the Bramfells’s corridor, and the simile 
had seemed particularly apt. With her grace, 
her delicacy, her subtle attraction, she might 
well be the outcome of imagination. But 
with Eve it was different. She also was 
graceful and attractive — but it was grace and 
attraction of a different order. One was 
beautiful with the beauty of the white rose 
that springs from the hothouse and withers 
at the first touch of cold; the other with the 
beauty of the wild rose on the cliffs above 
the sea, that keeps its petals fine and trans- 
parent in face of salt spray and wet mist. 
Eve too had her realm, but it was the realm 
of real things. A great confidence, a feeling 
that here one might rely even if all other 
faiths were shaken, touched him suddenly. 
Eor a moment he stood irresolute, watching 
her mount the stairs with her easy, assured 
step. Then a determination came to him. 
F ate favored him to-night ; he was in luck to- 
night. He would put his fortune to one more 
test. He swung across the hall and ran up 
the stairs. 

His face was keen with interest as he 
reached her side. The hard outline of his fea- 
tures and the hard grayness of his eyes were 
softened as when he had paused to talk with 
Lakeley. Action was the breath of his life, 
and his face changed • under it as another’s 
might change under the influence of stirring 
music or good wine. 

Eve saw the look and again the uneasy ex- 
pression of surprise crossed her eyes. She 
paused, her hand resting on the banister. 


Loder looked at her directly. “ Will you 
come into the study — as you came that other 
night? There’s something I want to say.” 
He spoke quietly. He felt master of him- 
self and of her. 

She hesitated, glanced at him, and away. 

"Will you come?” he said again. And 
as he said it his eyes rested on the sweep of 
her thick eyelashes, the curve of the black 
hair above her forehead. 

At last her lashes lifted, and the perplexity 
and doubt in her blue eyes stirred him. 
Without waiting for her answer, he leant for- 
ward. 

“ Say yes !” he urged. “ I don’t often ask 
for favors.” 

Still she hesitated; then her decision was 
made for her. With a new boldness he touch- 
ed her arm, drawing her forward gently but 
decisively towards Chilcote’s rooms. 

In the study a fire burned brightly, the desk 
was laden with papers, the lights were nicely 
adjusted; even the chairs were in their ac- 
customed places. Loder’s senses responded to 
each suggestion. It seemed but a day since 
he had seen it last. It was precisely as he had 
left it — the niche needing but the man. 

To hide his emotion he crossed the floor 
quickly and drew a chair forward. In less 
than six hours he had run up and down the 
scale of emotions. He had looked despair in 
the face, till the sudden sight of Chilcote had 
lifted him to the skies; since then surprise 
had assailed him in its strongest form and he 
had known the full meaning of the word 
“ risk.” From every contingency he had come 
out conquerer. He bent over the chair as he 
pulled it forward, to hide the expression in 
his eyes. 

“ Sit down !” he said, gently. 

Eve moved towards him. She moved slow- 
ly, as if half afraid. Many emotions stirred 
her — distrust, uncertainty, and a curious 
half - dominant, half - suppressed questioning 
that it was difficult to define. Loder remem- 
bered her shrinking coldness, her reluctant 
tolerance, on the night of his first coming, 
and his individuality, his certainty of power, 
kindled afresh. Never had he been so vehe- 
mently himself ; never had Chilcote seemed so 
complete a shadow. 

As Eve seated herself, he moved forward 
and leant over the back of her chair. The 
impulse that had filled him in his interview 
with Benwick, that had goaded him as he 
drove to the reception, was dominant again. 


THE MASQUERADER 


565 


“ I tried to say something as we drove to 
the Bramfells’s to-night,” he began. Like 
many men who possess eloquence for an im- 
personal cause, he was brusque, even blunt, in 
the stating of his own case. “ May I hark 
back — and go on from where I broke off?” 

Eve half turned. Her face was still puzzled 
and questioning. “ Of course.” She sat for- 
ward again, clasping her hands. 

He looked thoughtfully at the back of her 
head, at the slim outline of her shoulders, 
the glitter of the diamonds about her neck. 

“ Do you remember the day, three weeks 
ago, that we talked together in this room? 
The day a great many things seemed pos- 
sible?” 

This time she did not look round. She kept 
her gaze upon the fire. 

“ Do you remember ?” he persisted, quietly. 
In his college days men who heard that tone 
of quiet persistence had been wont to lose 
heart. Eve heard it now for the first time, 
and, without being aware, answered to it. 

“ Yes, I remember,” she said. 

“ On that day you believed in me — ” In 
his earnestness he no longer simulated Chil- 
cote; he spoke with his own steady reliance. 
He saw Eve stir, unclasp and clasp her hands, 
but he went steadily on. “ On that day you 
saw me in a new light — you acknowledged 
me.” He emphasized the slightly peculiar 
word. “ But since that day ” — his voice quick- 
ened — “ since that day your feelings have 
changed — your faith in me has fallen away.” 
He watched her closely; but she made no 
sign, save to lean still nearer to the fire. 
He crossed his arms over the back of her 
chair. “ You were justified,” he said, suddenly. 
“ I’ve not been — myself since that day.” As 
he said the words his coolness forsook him 
slightly. He loathed the necessary lie, yet 
his egotism clamored for vindication. “ All 
men have their lapses,” he went on ; “ there 
are times — there are days and weeks when I 
— when my — ” The word “ nerves ” touched 
his tongue, hung upon it, then died away un- 
spoken. 

Very quietly, almost without a sound, Eve 
had risen and turned towards him. She was 
standing very straight, her face a little pale, 
the hand that rested on the arm of her chair 
trembling slightly. 

“ J ohn,” she said, quickly, “ don’t say that 
word ! Don’t say that hideous word ( nerves ’ ! 
I don’t feel that I can bear it to-night — not 
just to-night. Can you understand?” 


Loder stepped back. Without comprehend- 
ing, he felt suddenly and strangely at a loss. 
Something in her face struck him silent and 
perplexed. It seemed that without prepara- 
tion he had stepped upon dangerous ground. 
With an undefined apprehension he waited, 
looking at her. 

“ I can’t explain it,” she went on with nerv- 
ous haste, “ I can’t give any reasons, but 
quite suddenly the — the farce has grown un- 
bearable. I used not to think — used not even 
to care — but suddenly things have changed — 
or I have changed.” She paused, confused 
and distressed. “ Why should it be ? Why 
should things change?” She asked the ques- 
tion sharply, as if in appeal against her own 
incredulity. 

Loder turned aside. He was afraid of the 
triumph, volcanic and irrepressible, that 
her admission roused. 

“ Why ?” she said again. 

He turned slowly back. “ You forget that 
I’m not a magician,” he said, gently. “ I 
hardly know what you are speaking of.” 

For a moment she was silent, but in that 
moment her eyes spoke. Pain, distress, pride, 
all strove for expression; then at last her 
lips parted. 

“ Do you say that in seriousness ?” she 
asked. 

It was no moment for fencing, and Loder 
knew it. “ In seriousness,” he replied, shortly. 

“ Then I shall speak seriously too.” Her 
voice shook slightly and the color came 
back into her face, but the hand on the arm 
of the chair ceased to tremble. “For more 
than four years I have known that you take 
drugs — for more than four years I have 
acquiesced in your deceptions — in your 
meannesses — ” 

There was an instant’s silence. Then 
Loder stepped forward. 

“ You knew — for four years?” he said, very 
slowly. For the first time that night he re- 
membered Chilcote and forgot himself. 

Eve lifted her head with a quick gesture 
— as if, in flinging otf discretion and silence, 
she appreciated to the full the new relief of 
speech. 

“Yes, I knew. Perhaps I should have 
spoken when I first surprised the secret, but 
it’s all so passed that it’s useless to speculate 
now. It was fate, I suppose. I was very 
young, you were very unapproachable, and — 
and we had no love to make the way easy.” 
For a second her glance faltered and she 


566 


HARPERS BAZAR 


looked away. “ A woman’s — a girl’s — disillu- 
sioning is a very sad comedy — it should never 
have an audience.” She laughed a little bit- 
terly as she looked back again. “ I saw all 
the deceits, all the subterfuges, all the — lies.” 
She said the word deliberately, meeting his 
eyes. 

Again he thought of Chilcote, but his face 
paled. 

“ I saw it all. I lived with it all till I 
grew hard and indifferent — till I acquiesced 
in your ‘ nerves ’ as readily as the rest of the 
world that hadn’t suspected and didn’t 
know.” Again she laughed nervously. “ And 
I thought the indifference would last forever. 
If one lives in a groove for years, one gets 
frozen up; I never felt more frozen than on 
the night Mr. Fraide spoke to me of you, — 
asked me to use my influence; then, on that 
night — ” 

“ Yes. On that night?” Loder’s voice was 
tense. 

But her excitement had suddenly fallen. 
Whether his glance had quelled it or whether 
the force of her feelings had worked itself out 
it was hard to say, but her eyes had lost their 
resolution. She stood hesitating for a mo- 
ment, then she turned and moved to the man- 
telpiece. 

“ That night you found me changed ?” 
Loder was insistent. 

“ Changed — and yet not changed.” She 
spoke reluctantly, with averted head. 

“ And what did you think ?” 

Again she was silent; then again a faint 
excitement tinged her cheeks. 

“ I thought — ” she began. “ It seemed — ” 
Once more she paused, hampered by her own 
uncertainty, her own sense of puzzling in- 
congruity. “ I don’t know why I speak like 
this,” she went on at last, as if in justifica- 
tion of herself, “or why I want to speak. 
But a feeling — an extraordinary, incompre- 
hensible feeling seems to urge me on. The 
same feeling that came to me on the day we 
had tea together, — the feeling that made me 
— that almost made me believe — ” 

“ Believe what ?” The words escaped him 
without volition. 

At sound of his voice she turned. “ Believe 
that a miracle had happened,” she said, — 
“ that you had found strength — had freed 
yourself.” 

“From the morphia?” 

“From the morphia.” 

In the silence that followed, Loder lived 


through a century of suggestion and inde- 
cision. His first feeling was for himself, but 
his first clear thought was for Chilcote and 
their compact. He stood, metaphorically, on 
a stone in the middle of a stream, balancing 
on one foot, then the other; looking to the 
right bank, then to the left. At last, as it 
always did, inspiration came to him slowly. 
By one plunge he might save both Chilcote 
and himself! 

He crossed quickly to the fireplace and 
stood by Eve. “ You were right in your 
belief,” he said. “For all that time — from 
the night you spoke to me of Fraide to the 
day you had tea in this room — I never touch- 
ed a drug.” 

She moved suddenly, and he saw her face. 
“John,” she said, unsteadily, “you — I — I 
have known you to lie to me — about other 
things.” 

With a hasty movement he averted his 
head. The doubt, the appeal in her words 
shocked him. The whole isolation of her life 
seemed summed up in the one short sen- 
tence. For the instant he forgot Chilcote. 
With a reaction of feeling he turned to her 
again. 

“ Look at me !” he said, brusquely. 

She raised her eyes. 

“ Do you believe I’m speaking the truth ?” 

She searched his eyes intently, the doubt 
and hesitancy still struggling in her face. 

“ But the last three weeks ?” she said, re- 
luctantly. “ How can you ask me to believe ?” 

Loder had expected this, and he met it 
steadily enough; nevertheless his courage fal- 
tered. To deceive this woman, even to justify 
himself, had in the last half-hour become 
something sacrilegious. 

“ The last three weeks must be buried,” he 
said, hurriedly. “No man could free himself 
suddenly from — from a vice.” He broke off 
abruptly. He hated Chilcote ; he hated 
himself. Then Eve’s face, raised in dis- 
tressed appeal, overshadowed all scruples. 
“ You have been silent and patient for 
years,” he said, suddenly. “ Can you be pa- 
tient and silent a little longer?” He spoke 
without consideration. He was conscious of 
no selfishness beneath his words. In the first 
exercise of conscious strength the primitive 
desire to reduce all elements to his own 
sovereignty submerged every other emotion. 
“ I can’t enter into the thing,” he said ; “ like 
you, I give no explanations. I can only tell 
you that on the day we talked together in this 


THE MASQUERADER 


567 


room I was myself — in the full possession of 
my reason, the full knowledge of my own 
capacities. The man you have known in the 
last three weeks, the man you have imagined 
in the last four years, is a shadow, an 
unreality — a weakness in human form. 
There is a new Chilcote — if you will only 
see him.” 

Eve was trembling as he ceased; her face 
was flushed; there was a strange brightness 
in her eyes. She was moved beyond her- 
self. 

“But the other you — the old you?” 

“You must be patient.” He looked down 
into the fire. “ Times like the last three 
weeks will come again — must come again ; 
they are inevitable. When they do come, 
you must shut your eyes — you must blind 
yourself. You must ignore them — and me. 
Is it a compact ?” He still avoided her 
eyes. 

Eve turned to him. “ Yes — if you wish it,” 
she said, below her breath. 

He was conscious of her glance, but he 
dared not meet it. He felt sick at the part 
he was playing, yet he held to it tenaci- 
ously. 

“ I wonder if you could do what few men 
and fewer women are capable of?” he asked 
at last. “ I wonder if you could learn to live 
in the present ?” He lifted his head slowly 
and met her eyes. “ This is an — an experi- 
ment,” he went on. “ And like all experi- 
ments, it has good phases and bad. When 
the bad phases come round I — I want you to 
tell yourself that you are not altogether alone 
in your unhappiness — that I am suffering too 
— in another way.” 

There was silence when he had spoken, ancf 
for a space it seemed that Eve would make 
no response. Then the last surprise in a day 
of surprises came to him. With a slight stir, 
a slight quick rustle of skirts, she stepped 
forward and laid her hand in his. 

The gesture was simple and very sweet ; her 
eyes were soft and full of light as she raised 
her face to his, her lips parted in uncon- 
scious appeal. 

There is no surrender so seductive as the 
surrender of a proud woman. Loder’s blood 
stirred, the undeniable suggestion of the 
moment thrilled and disconcerted him in a 
tumult of thought. Honor, duty, principle 
rose in a triple barrier; but honor, duty, and 
principle are but words to a headstrong man. 
The full significance of his position came to 


him as it had never come before. His hand 
closed on hers; he bent towards her, his 
pulses beating unevenly. 

“ Eve !” he said. Then at sound of his 
voice he suddenly hesitated. It was the voice 
of a man who has forgotten everything but 
his own existence. 

For an instant he stayed motionless; then 
very quietly he drew away from her, releasing 
her hands. 

“ Ho,” he said. “ No — I haven’t got Hhe 
right.” 

CHAPTEB XVIII 

T HAT night, for almost the first time 
since he had adopted his dual role, 
Loder slept ill. He was not a man over 
whom imagination held any powerful sway — 
his doubts and misgivings seldom ran to 
speculation upon future possibilities; never- 
theless the fact that, consciously or uncon- 
sciously, he had adopted a new attitude to- 
wards Eve came home to him with unpleasant 
force during the hours of darkness; and long 
before the first hint of daylight had slipped 
through the heavy window-curtains he had 
arranged a plan of action — a plan wherein, 
by the simple method of altogether avoid- 
ing Eve, he might soothe his own conscience 
and safeguard Chilcote’s domestic inter- 
ests. 

It was a satisfactory if a somewhat nega- 
tive arrangement, and he rose next morning 
with a feeling that things had begun to shape 
themselves. But chance sometimes has a 
disconcerting knack of forestalling even our 
best-planned schemes. He dressed slowly, 
and descended to his solitary breakfast with 
the pleasant sensation of having put last 
night out of consideration by the turning 
over of a new leaf ; but scarcely had he opened 
Chilcote’s letters, scarcely had he taken a 
cursory glance at the morning’s newspaper, 
than it was borne in upon him that not 
only a new leaf, but a whole sheaf of new 
leaves, had been turned in his prospects — by a 
hand infinitely more powerful and arbitrary 
than his own. He realized within the space 
of a few moments that the leisure Eve might 
have claimed, the leisure he might have 
been tempted to devote to her, was no longer 
his to dispose of — being already demanded of 
him from a quarter that allowed of no re- 
fusal. 

For the first rumbling of the political 
earthquake that was to shake the country 


568 


HARPERS BAZAR 



made itself audible beyond denial on that 
morning of March the twenty-seventh, when 
the news spread through England that, in 
view of the disorganized state of the Persian 
army and the Shah’s consequent inability 
to suppress the open insurrection of the 
border tribes in the northeastern districts 
of Meshed, Russia, with a great show of 
magnanimity, had come to the rescue by 
despatching a large armed force from her 
military station at Merv across the Per- 
sian frontier to the seat of the disturb- 
ance. 

To many hundreds of Englishmen who 
read their papers on that morning, this an- 
nouncement conveyed but little. That there 
is such a country as Persia we all know, that 
English interests predominate in the south, 


and Russian interests in the 
north, we have all super- 
ficially understood from 
childhood ; but in this 
knowledge, coupled with the 
fact that Persia is comforta- 
bly far away, we are apt to 
rest content. It is only to 
the eyes that see through 
long - distance glasses, the 
minds that regard the pres- 
ent as nothing more nor less 
than an inevitable link join- 
ing the future to the past, 
that this distant debatable 
land stands out in its true 
political significance. 

To the average reader of 
news the statement of Rus- 
sia’s move seemed scarcely 
more important than had the 
first report of the border ri- 
sings in J anuary, but to the 
men who had watched the 
growth of the disturbance it 
came charged with portent- 
ous meaning. Through the 
entire ranks of the Opposi- 
tion, from Fraide himself 
downwards, it caused a thrill 
of expectation — that pecul- 
iar prophetic sensation that 
every politician has experi- 
enced at some moment of 
his career. 

In no member of his party 
did this feeling strike deeper 
root than in Loder. Imbued 
with a lifelong interest in the Eastern ques- 
tion, specially equipped by personal knowl- 
edge to hold and proclaim an opinion upon 
Persian affairs, he read the signs and por- 
tents with lucid insight. Seated at Chil- 
cote’s table, surrounded by Chilcote’s letters 
and papers, he forgot the breakfast that was 
slowly growing cold, forgot the interests and 
dangers, personal or pleasurable, of the night 
before, while his mental eyes persistently 
conjured up the map of Persia, travelling 
with steady deliberation from Merv to 
Meshed, from Meshed to Herat, from 
Herat to the Empire of India! For it was 
not the fact that the Hazaras had risen 
against the Shah that occupied the thinking 
mind, nor was it the fact that Russian and 
not Persian troops were destined to subdue 


THE MASQUERADER 


569 


them, but the deeply important consideration 
that an armed Russian force had crossed the 
frontier and was encamped within twenty 
miles of Meshed — Meshed, upon which covet- 
ous Russian eyes have rested ever since the 
days of Peter the Great. 

So Loder’s thoughts ran as he read and re- 
read the news from the varying political 
standpoints, and so they continued to run 
when, some hours later, an urgent telephone 
message from the St. George's Gazette asked 
him to call at Lakeley’s office. 

The message was interesting as well as im- 
perative, and he made an instant response. 
The thought of Lakeley’s keen eyes and 
shrewd enthusiasms always possessed strong 
attractions for his own slower temperament, 
but even had this impetus been lacking, the 
knowledge that at the St. George's offices, if 
anywhere, the true feelings of the party were 
invariably voiced would have drawn him 
without hesitation. 

It was scarcely twelve o’clock when he turn- 
ed the corner of the tall building, but already 
the keen spirit that Lakeley everywhere dif- 
fused was making itself felt. Loder smiled 
to himself as his eyes fell on. the day’s 
placards with their uncompromising head- 
ings, and passed onward from the string of 
gayly painted carts drawn up to receive their 
first consignment of the paper to the troop 
of eager newsboys passing in and out of the 
big swing doors with their piled-up bundles 
of the early edition ; and with a renewed thrill 
of anticipation and energy he passed through 
the doorway and ran up-stairs. 

Passing unchallenged through the long cor- 
ridor that led to Lakeley’s office, he caught 
a fresh impression of action and vitality from 
the click of the tape machines in the sub- 
editors’ office, and a glimpse through the open 
door of the subeditors themselves, each occu- 
pied with his particular task; then without 
time for further observation he found himself 
at Lakeley’s door. Without waiting to knock, 
as he had felt compelled to do on the one or 
two previous occasions that business had 
brought him there, he immediately turned the 
handle and entered the room. 

Editors’ offices differ but little in general 
effect. Lakeley’s surroundings were rather 
more elaborate than is usual, as became the 
dignity of the oldest Tory evening paper, but 
the atmosphere was unmistakable. As Loder 
entered, he glanced up from the desk at which 
he was sitting, but instantly returned to his 


task of looking through and marking the 
enormous pile of early evening editions that 
were spread around him. His coat was off 
and hung on the chair behind him, and he 
pulled vigorously on a long cigar. 

“ Hullo ! That’s right !” he said, laconi- 
cally. “Make yourself comfortable half a 
second, while I skim the St. Stephen's." 

His salutation pleased Loder. With a nod 
of acquiescence he crossed the office to the 
brisk fire that burned in the grate. 

For a minute or two Lakeley worked 
steadily, occasionally breaking the quiet by 
an unintelligible remark or a vigorous stroke 
of his pencil. At last he dropped the paper 
with a gesture of satisfaction and leant back 
in his chair. 

“ Well,” he said, “ what d’you think of 
this ? How’s this for a complication ?” 

Loder turned round. “ I think,” he said, 
quietly, “ that we can’t overestimate it.” 

Lakeley laughed and took a long pull at his 
cigar. “ And we mustn’t be afraid to let the 
Sefborough crowd know it, eh?” He waved 
his hand to the poster of the first edition that 
hung before his desk. 

Loder, following his glance, smiled. 

Lakeley laughed again. “ They might have 
known it all along, if they’d cared to deduce,” 
he said. “ Hid they really believe that Russia 
was going to sit calmly looking across the 
Heri-Rud while the Shah played at mobili- 
zing? But what became of you last night? 
We had a regular prophesying of the whole 
business at Bramfell’s; the great Fraide look- 
ed in for five minutes. I went on with him 
to the club afterwards and was there when 
the news came in. ’Twas a great night!” 

Loder’s face lighted up. “ I can imagine 
it,” he said, with an unusual touch of warmth. 

Lakeley watched him intently for a mo- 
ment. Then with a quick action he leant for- 
ward and rested his elbows on the desk. 

“ It’s going to be something more than 
imagination for you, Chilcote,” he said, im- 
pressively. “ It’s going to be solid earnest !” 
He spoke rapidly and with rather more 
than his usual shrewd decisiveness; then he 
paused to see the effect of his announcement. 

Loder was still studying the flaring poster. 
At the other’s words he turned sharply. 
Something in Lakeley’s voice, something in 
his manner, arrested him. A tinge of color 
crossed his face. 

“ Reality ?” he said. “ What do you mean ?” 

For a further space his companion watched 


570 


HARPERS BAZAR 


him; then with a rapid movement he tilted 
back his chair. 

“ Yes,” he said. “Yes; old Fraide’s in- 
stincts are never far out. He’s quite right. 
You’re the man!” 

Still quietly, but with a strange underglow 
of excitement, Loder left the fire, and coming 
forward, took a chair at Lakeley’s desk. 

“ Do you mind telling me what you’re driv- 
ing at?” he asked, in his old, laconic voice. 

Lakeley still scrutinized him with an air of 
brisk satisfaction; then with a gesture of 
finality he tossed his cigar away. 

“ My dear chap,” he said, “ there’s going to 
be a breach somewhere — and Fraide says 
you’re the man to step in and fill it! You 
see, five years ago when things looked lively 
on the Gulf and the Bundar Abbas business 
came to light, you did some promising work; 
and a reputation like that sticks to a man — 
even when he turns slacker! I won’t deny 
that you’ve slacked abominably,” he added, as 
Loder made an uneasy movement, “ but slack- 
ing has different effects. Some men run to 
seed, others mature. I had almost put you 
down on the black list, but I’ve altered my 
mind in the last two months.” 

Again Loder stirred in his seat. A host 
of emotions were stirring in his mind. Every 
word wrung from Lakeley was another stimu- 
lus to pride, another subtle tribute to the cu- 
rious force of personality. 

“Well?” he said. “Well?” 

Lakeley smiled. “We all know that Sef- 
borough’s ministry is — well, top-heavy,” he 
said. “ Sefborough is building his card house 
just a story too high. It’s a toss-up what ’ll 
upset the balance. It might be the Army, 
of course, or it might be Education; but it 
might quite as well be a matter of foreign 
policy !” 

They looked at each other in comprehen- 
sive silence. 

“ You know as well as I that it’s not the 
question of whether Russia comes into Persia, 
but the question of whether Russia goes out 
of Persia when these Hazaras are subdued! 


I’ll lay you what you like, Chilcote, that 
within one week we hear that the risings are 
suppressed, but that Russia, instead of re- 
tiring, has advanced those tempting twenty 
miles and comfortably ensconced herself at 
Meshed — as she ensconced herself on the 
island of Ashurada. You remember that 
business ?” Lakeley’s nervous, energetic 
figure was braced, his light blue eyes bright- 
ened, by the intensity of his interest. 

“ If this news comes before the Easter re- 
cess,” he went on, “ the first nail can be ham- 
mered in on the motion for adjournment. 
And if the right man does it in the right 
way. I’ll lay my life ’twill be a nail in Sef- 
borough’s coffin.” 

Loder sat very still. Overwhelming possi- 
bilities had suddenly opened before him. In 
a moment the unreality of the past months 
had become real; a tangible justification of 
himself and his imposture was suddenly made 
possible. In the stress of understanding he 
too leant forward, and resting his elbows on 
the desk, took his face between his hands. 

For a space Lakeley made no remark. To 
him, man and man’s moods came second 
in interest to his paper and his party poli- 
tics. That Chilcote should be conscious of 
the glories he had opened up seemed only 
natural; that he should show that conscious- 
ness in a becoming gravity seemed only right. 
For some seconds he made no attempt to dis- 
turb him ; then at last his own irrepressi- 
ble activity made silence unendurable. He 
caught up his pencil and tapped impatiently 
on the desk. 

“ Chilcote,” he said, quickly and with a 
gleam of sudden anxiety, “ you’re not by 
any chance doubtful of yourself?” 

At sound of his voice Loder lifted his face ; 
it was quite pale again, but the energy and 
the resolution that had come into it when 
Lakeley first spoke were still to be seen. 

“ No, Lakeley,” he said, very slowly, “ it’s 
not the sort of moment in which a man 
doubts himself.” 

[to be continued.] 



THE ROSE 


667 


But one thing is sure. No baby could pay see be was quite useful, and maybe it up- 
the bills that printer sent Mabel Muriel, lifted him, too. For I am ’most sure that 
Mabel Muriel couldn’t, either. They made during one morning, at least, while be was 
her hair stand right straight up. But she examining all our bills, and writing out 
telegraphed to our financial adviser, and be checks to pay them, he was too busy to be 
came to St. Catharine’s and advised us to pay a Soulless Corporation with its Heel on the 
the bills; and then he did pay them. So you Neck of the Poor! 



THE ROSE 

BY WILLIAM H. HAYNE 

I know a rose of wondrous birth, — 

Of more than mortal grace and worth, — 
Whose beauty haunts me day and night; 
Whose leaves are formed of deathless light; 
Whose verdure holds no harrowing thorn, 
And breathes of blessings yet unborn, — 
Whose mission seems of boundless scope, — 
The radiant, heavenly rose of Hope. 


668 


HARPERS BAZAR 





CHAPTER XIX 
ND so it came about that Loder 
was freed from one responsi- 
bility to undertake another. 
From the morning of March 
the twenty - seventh, when 
Lakeley had expounded the 
political programme in the offices of the 
St. George's Gazette , to the afternoon of April 
the first he found himself a central figure in 
the whirlpool of activity that formed itself in 
Conservative circles. 

With the acumen for which he was noted, 
Lakeley had touched the keystone of the 
situation on that morning; and succeeding 
events, each fraught with its own impor- 
tance, had established the precision of his 
forecast. 

Minutely watchful of Russia’s attitude, 
Fraide quietly organized his forces and 
strengthened his position with a statesman- 
like grasp of opportunity; and to Loder, the 
attributes displayed by his leader during 
those trying days formed an endless and ab- 
sorbing study. Setting the thought of Chil- 
cote aside, ignoring his own position and the 
risks he daily ran, he had fully yielded to the 
glamour of the moment, and in the first free- 
dom of a loose rein he had given unre- 
servedly all that he possessed of activity, ca- 
pacity, and determination to the cause that 
had claimed him. 

Singularly privileged in a constant, per- 
sonal contact with Fraide, he learned many 
valuable lessons of tact and organization in 
those five vital days during which the tactics 
of a whole party hung upon one item of news 
from a country thousands of miles away. 

Begun in Harper’s Bazar No.i., Vol. XXXVIII. 


For should Russia subdue the insurgent 
Hazaras and, laden with the honors of the 
peacemaker, retire across the frontier, then 
the political arena would remain undis- 
turbed; but should the all-important move- 
ment predicted by Lakeley become an ac- 
cepted fact before Parliament rose for the 
Easter recess, then the first blow in the fight 
that would rage during the succeeding session 
must inevitably be struck. In the mean time 
it was Fraide’s difficult position to wait and 
watch and yet preserve his dignity. 

It was early in the afternoon of March the 
twenty-ninth that Loder, in response to a long- 
standing invitation, lunched quietly with the 
Fraides. Being delayed by some communica- 
tions from Wark, he was a few minutes late 
in keeping his appointment, and on being 
shown into the drawing-room found the little 
group of three that was to make up the 
party already assembled — Fraide, Lady Sarah 
— and Eve. As he entered the room they 
ceased to speak, and all three turned in his 
direction. 

In the first moment he had a vague im- 
pression of responding suitably to Lady 
Sarah’s cordial greeting; but he knew that 
immediately and unconsciously his eyes 
turned to Eve, while a quick sense of surprise 
and satisfaction passed through him at sight 
of her. For an instant he wondered how she 
would mark his avoidance of her since their 
last eventful interview ; then instantly he 
blamed himself for the passing doubt. For, 
before all things, he knew her to be a woman 
of the world. 

He took Fraide’s outstretched hand; then 
again he looked towards Eve, waiting for her 
to speak. 



THE MASQUERADER 


669 


She met his glance, but said nothing; in- 
stead of speaking she smiled at him — a smile 
that was far more reassuring than any words, 
a smile that in a single second conveyed for- 
giveness, approbation, and a warm, almost 
tender sense of sympathy and comprehension. 
The remembrance of that smile stayed with 
him long after they were seated at table; and 
far into the future the remembrance of the 
lunch itself, with its pleasant private sense 
of satisfaction, was destined to return to 
him in retrospective moments. The delight- 
ful atmosphere of the Fraides’s home life had 
always been a wonder and an enigma to him ; 
but on this day he seemed to grasp its mean- 
ing by a new light, as he watched Eve soften 
under its influence and felt himself drawn 
imperceptibly from the position of a specula- 
tive outsider to that of an intimate. It was 
a fresh side to the complex, fascinating life 
of which Fraide was the master spirit. 

These reflections had grown agreeably fa- 
miliar to his mind; the talk, momentarily di- 
verted into social channels, was quietly drift- 
ing back to the inevitable question of the 
“ situation ” that in private moments was 
never far from their lips, when the event that 
was to mark and separate that day from those 
that had preceded it was unceremoniously 
thrust upon them. 

Without announcement or apology, the 
door was suddenly flung open and Lakeley 
entered the room. 

His face was brimming with excitement, 
and his eyes flashed. In the first haste of the 
entry he failed to see that there were ladies 
in the room, and crossing instantly to Fraide, 
laid an open telegram before him. “ This 
is official, sir/’ he said. Then at last he 
glanced round the table. 

“ Lady Sarah !” he exclaimed. u Can you 
forgive me? But I ? d have given a hundred 
pounds to be the first with this !” He glanced 
back at Fraide. 

Lady Sarah rose and stretched out her 
hand. “ Mr. Lakeley,” she said, “ I more 
than understand !” There was a thrill in her 
warm, cordial voice, and her eyes also turned 
towards her husband. 

Of the whole party, Fraide alone was per- 
fectly calm. He sat very still, his small, thin 
figure erect and dignified, as his eyes scanned 
the message that meant so much. 

Eve, who had sprung from her seat and 
passed round the table at sound of Lakeley’s 
news, was leaning over his shoulder, reading 


the telegram with him. At the last word she 
lifted her head, her face flushed with ex- 
citement. 

“ How splendid it must be to be a man !” 
she exclaimed. And without premeditation 
her eyes and Loder’s met. 

In this manner came the news from Persia, 
and with it Loder’s definite call. In the mo- 
mentary stress of action it was impossible 
that any thought of Chilcote could obtrude 
itself. Events had followed each other too 
rapidly, decisive action had been too much 
thrust upon him, to allow of hesitation; and 
it was in this spirit, under this vigorous 
pressure, that he made his attack upon the 
Government on the day that followed Fraide’s 
luncheon party. 

That indefinable attentiveness, that alert 
sensation of impending storm, that is so 
strong an index of the Parliamentary atmos- 
phere was very keen on that memorable first 
of April. It was obvious in the crowded 
benches on both sides of the House — in the 
oneness of purpose that insensibly made itself 
felt through the ranks of the Opposition, 
and found definite expression in Fraide’s stiff 
figure and tightly shut lips, in the unmis- 
takable uneasiness that lay upon the Minis- 
terial benches. 

But notwithstanding these indications of 
battle, the early portion of the proceedings 
was unmarked by excitement, being tinged 
with the purposeless lack of vitality that had 
of late marked all affairs of the Sefborough 
Ministry; and it was not until the adjourn- 
ment of the House for the Easter recess had 
at last been moved that the spirit of activity 
hovering in the air descended and galvanized 
the assembly into life. It was then, amid a 
stir of interest, that Loder slowly rose. 

Many curious incidents have marked the 
speech-making annals of the House of Com- 
mons, but it is doubtful whether it has ever 
been the lot of a member to hear his own 
voice raised for the first time on a subject of 
vital interest to his party, having been de- 
nied all initial assistance of minor questions 
asked or unimportant amendments made. Of 
all those gathered together in the great build- 
ing on that day only one man appreciated the 
difficulty of Loder’s position — and that man 
was Loder himself. 

He rose slowly and stood silent for a cou- 
ple of seconds, his body braced, his fingers 
touching the sheaf of notes that lay in front 


670 


HARPERS BAZAR 


of him. To the waiting House the silence 
was effective. It might mean overassurance, 
or it might mean a failure of nerve at a critic- 
al moment. Either possibility had a tinge 
of piquancy. Moved by the same impulse, 
fifty pairs of eyes turned upon him with new 
interest; but up in the Ladies’ Gallery Eve 
clasped her hands in sudden apprehension; 
and Fraide, sitting stiffly in his seat, turned 
and shot one swift glance at the man on 
whom, against prudence and precedent, he 
had pinned his faith. The glance was swift 
but very searching, and with a characteristic 
movement of his wiry shoulders he resumed 
his position and his usual grave, attentive 
attitude. At the same moment Loder lifted 
his head and began to speak. 

Here at the outset his inexperience met 
him. His voice, pitched too low, only reached 
those directly near him. It was a moment of 
great strain. Eve, listening intently, drew 
a long breath of suspense and let her fingers 
drop apart; the < sceptical, watchful eyes that 
faced him line upon line seemed to flash and 
brighten with critical interest; only Eraide 
made no change of expression. He sat placid, 
serious, attentive, with the shadow of a smile 
behind his eyes. 

Again Loder paused, but this time the 
pause was shorter. The ordeal he had dread- 
ed and waited for was passed and he saw his 
way clearly. With the old movement of the 
shoulders he straightened himself and once 
more began to speak. This time his voice 
rang quietly true and commanding across 
the floor of the House. 

'No first step can be really great; it must of 
necessity possess more of prophecy than of 
achievement; nevertheless it is by the first 
step that a man marks the value, not only of 
his cause, but of himself. Following broadly 
on the lines that tradition has laid down 
for the Conservative orator, Loder disguised 
rather than displayed the vein of strong, per- 
suasive eloquence that was his natural gift. 
The occasion that might possibly justify such 
a display of individuality might lie with the 
future, but it had no application to the pres- 
ent. For the moment his duty was to voice 
his party sentiments with as much lucidity, 
as much logic, and as much calm conviction 
as lay within his capacity. 

Standing quietly in Chilcote’s place, he was 
conscious with a deep sense of gravity of the 
peculiarity of his position; and perhaps it 
was this unconscious and unstudied serious- 


ness that lent him the tone of weight and 
judgment so essential to the cause he had in 
hand. It has always been difficult to arouse 
the interest of the House on matters of 
British policy in Persia. Once aroused, it 
may, it is true, reach fever heat with re- 
markable rapidity, but the introductory 
stages offer that worst danger to the earnest 
speaker — the dread of an apathetic audi- 
ence. But from this consideration Loder, by 
his sharp consciousness of personal difficul- 
ties was given immunity. 

Pitching his voice in that quietly master- 
ful tone that beyond all others compels at- 
tention, he took up his subject and dealt with 
it with dispassionate force. With great skill 
he touched on the steady southward advance 
of Russia into Persian territory from the 
distant days when, by a curious irony of 
fate, Russian and British enterprise com- 
bined to make entry into the country under 
the sanction of the Grand-Duke of Moscovy. 
to the present hour, when this great power of 
Russia — long since alienated by interests and 
desires from her former cooperator, had 
taken a step which in the eyes of every 
thinking man must possess a deep signifi- 
cance. With quiet persistence he pointed 
out the peculiar position of Meshed in the 
distant province of Khorasan; its vast dis- 
tance from the Persian Gulf round which 
British interests and influence centre, and the 
consequently alarming position of hundreds 
of traders who, in the security of British sov- 
ereignty, are fighting their way upward from 
India, from Afghanistan — even from Eng- 
land herself. 

Following up his point, he dilated on these 
subjects of the British Crown who, cut off 
from adequate assistance, can only turn in 
personal or commercial peril to the protec- 
tive power of the nearest consulate. Then, 
quietly demanding the attention of his hear- 
ers, he marshalled fact after fact to demon- 
strate the isolation and inadequacy of a 
consulate so situated; the all but arbitrary 
power .of Russia, who in her new occupation 
of Meshed had only two considerations to 
withhold her from open agression — the knowl- 
edge of England as a very considerable but 
also a very distant power, the knowledge of 
Persia as an imminent but wholly impotent 
factor in the case! 

Having stated his opinions, he reverted to 
the motive of his speech — his desire to put 
forward a strong protest against the ad- 


THE MASQUERADER 


671 



Drawn by CLARENCE 1'. UNDERWOOD. 

U 


IT IS EXTRAORDINARY, SHE EXCLAIMED, SUDDENLY. 



672 


HARPERS BAZAR 


journment of the House without an assurance 
from the Government that immediate meas- 
ures would be taken to safeguard British 
interests in Meshed and throughout the 
province of Khorasan. 

The immediate outcome of Loder’s speech 
was all that his party had desired. The ef- 
fect on the House had been marked; and 
when, no satisfactory response coming to 
his demand, he had in still more resolute and 
insistent terms called for a division on the 
motion for adjournment, the result had been 
an appreciable fall in the Government ma- 
jority. 

To Loder himself the realization that he 
had at last vindicated and justified himself 
by individual action had a peculiar effect. 
His position had been altered in one re- 
markable particular. Before this day he 
alone had known himself to be strong; now 
the knowledge was shared by others and he 
was human enough to be susceptible to the 
change. 

The first appreciation of it came immedi- 
ately after the excitement of the division, 
when Fraide, singling him out, took his arm 
and pressed it affectionately. 

“ My dear Chilcote,” he said, “ we are all 
proud of you!” Then, looking up into his 
face, he added, in a graver tone, “ But keep 
your mind upon the future; never be blinded 
by the present — however bright it seems.” 

At the touch of his hand, at the sponta- 
neous approval of his first words, Loder’s 
pride thrilled and in a vehement rush of 
ambition his senses answered to the praise. 
Then as Fraide in all unconsciousness added 
his second sentence, the hot glow of feeling 
suddenly chilled. In a sweep of intuitive re- 
action the meaning and the danger of his 
falsely real position extinguished his excite- 
ment and turned his triumph cold. With an 
involuntary gesture he withdrew his arm. 

“ You’re very good, sir !” he said. “ And 
you’re very right. We never should forget 
that there is — a future.” 

The old man glanced up, surprised by the 
tone. 

“ Quite so, Chilcote !” he said, kindly. 
“ But we only advise those in whom we be- 
lieve to look towards it. Shall we find my 
wife ? I know she will want to bear you 
home with us.” 

But Loder’s joy in himself and his achieve- 
ment had dropped from him. He shrank sud- 


denly from Lady Sarah’s congratulations and 
Eve’s warm, silent approbation. 

“ Thanks, sir !” he said, “ but I don’t feel 
fit for society. A touch of my — nerves, I 
suppose.” He laughed shortly. “ But do 
you mind saying to Eve that I hope I have — 
satisfied her?” he added this as if in half -re- 
luctant after-thought. Then with a short 
pressure of Fraide’s hand he turned, evading 
the many groups that waited to claim him, 
and passed out of the House alone. 

Hailing a cab, he drove to Grosvenor 
Square. All the exaltation of an hour ago 
had turned to ashes. His excitement had 
found its culmination in a sense of futility 
and premonition. 

He met no one in the hall or on the stairs 
of Chilcote’s house, and on entering the 
study, he found that also deserted. Greening 
had been amongst the most absorbed of those 
who had listened to his speech. Passing at 
once into the room, he crossed as if by in- 
stinct to the desk, and there halted. On the 
top of some unopened letters lay the signifi- 
cant yellow envelope of a telegram — the tele- 
gram that in an unformed, subconscious way 
had sprung to his expectation on the moment 
of Fraide’s congratulation. 

Very quietly he picked it up, opened and 
read it, and with the automatic caution that 
had become habitual, carried it across the 
room and dropped it in the fire. This done, he 
returned to the desk, read the letters that 
awaited Chilcote, and scribbling the neces- 
sary notes upon the margins, left them in 
readiness for Greening. Then, moving with 
the same quiet suppression, he passed from 
the room, down the stairs, and out into the 
street by the way he had come. 

CHAPTER XX 

O X the fifth day after the momentous 
first of April on which Chilcote had 
recalled Loder and resumed his own 
life he left his house and walked towards 
Bond Street. Though the morning was clear 
and the air almost warm for the time of year, 
he was buttoned into a long overcoat and was 
wearing a muffler and a pair of doeskin 
gloves. As he passed along he kept close 
to the house fronts to avoid the sun that was 
everywhere stirring the winter-bound town, 
like a suffusion of young blood through old 
veins. He avoided the warmth because in 
this instance warmth meant light, but as he 


THE MASQUERADER 


673 


moved he shivered slightly from time to time 
with the haunting, permeating cold that of 
late had become his persistent shadow. 

He was ill at ease as he hurried forward. 
With each succeeding day of the old life the 
new annoyances, the new obligations became 
more hampering. Before his compact with 
Loder this old life had been a net about his 
feet; now the meshes seemed to have narrow- 
ed, the net itself to have spread till it smoth- 
ered his whole being. His own household — 
his own rooms, even — offered no sanctuary. 
The presence of another personality tinged 
the atmosphere. It was preposterous, but it 
was undeniable. The lay figure that he had 
set in his place had proved to be flesh and 
blood — had usurped his life, his position, his 
very personality, by sheer right of strength. 
As he walked along Bond Street in the first 
sunshine of the year, jostled by the well- 
dressed crowd, he felt a pariah. 

He revolted at the new order of things, but 
the revolt was a silent one — the iron of ex- 
pediency had entered into his soul. He dared 
not jeopardize Loder’s position, because he 
dared not dispense with Loder. The door 
that guarded his vice drew him more resist- 
lessly with every indulgence, and Loder’s was 
the voice that called the “ Open Sesame !” 

He walked on aimlessly. He had been but 
five days at home, and already the quiet, 
grass-grown court of Clifford’s Inn, the bare 
staircase, the comfortless privacy of Loder’s 
rooms, seemed a haven of refuge. The speed 
with which this hunger had returned fright- 
ened him. It caused him inconsequently to 
hasten his steps. 

He walked forward rapidly and without en- 
countering a check. Then suddenly the spell 
was broken. From the slowly moving, bril- 
liantly dressed throng of people some one* 
called him by his name; and turning, he saw 
Lillian Astrupp. 

She was stepping from the door of a jewel- 
ler’s, and as he turned she paused, holding 
out her hand. 

“ The very person I would have wished to 
see !” she exclaimed. “ Where have you been 
these hundred years ? I’ve heard of nobody 
but you since you’ve turned politician and 
ceased to be a mere member of Parliament!” 
She laughed softly. The laugh suited the 
light spring air, as she herself suited the 
pleasant, superficial scene. 

He took her hand and held it, while his 
eyes travelled from her delicate face to her 

vol. xxxviii. — 43. 


pale cloth gown, from her soft furs to the 
bunch of roses fastened in her muff. The 
sight of her was a curious relief. Her cool, 
slim fingers were so casual, yet so clinging, 
her voice and her presence were so redolent of 
easy, artificial things. 

“How well you look!” he said, involun- 
tarily. 

Again she laughed. “ That’s my preroga- 
tive !” she responded, lightly. “ But I was 
serious in being glad to see you. Sarcastic 
people are always so intuitive. I’m looking 
for some one with intuition.” 

Chilcote glanced up. “ Extravagant again ?” 
he said, dryly. 

She smiled at him sweetly. “Jack!” she 
murmured with slow reproach. 

Chilcote laughed quickly. “I understand. 
You’ve changed your Minister of Finance. 
I’m wanted in some other direction.” 

This time her reproach was expressed by a 
glance. “ You are always wanted,” she said. 

The words seemed to rouse him again to 
the shadowy self-distrust that the sight of 
her had lifted. 

“ It’s — it’s delightful to meet you like this,” 
he began, “ and I wish the meeting wasn’t 
momentary. But I’m — I’m rather pressed 
for time. You must let me come round one 
afternoon — or evening, when you’re alone.” 
He fumbled for a moment with the collar of 
his coat, and glanced furtively upwards 
towards Oxford Street. 

But again Lillian smiled — this time to her- 
self. If she understood anything on earth it 
was Chilcote and his moods. 

“ If one may be careless of anything. 
Jack,” she said, lightly, “surely it’s of time. 
I can imagine being pressed for anything else 
in the world. If it’s an appointment you’re 
worrying about, a motor goes ever so much 
faster than a cab — ” She looked at him ten- 
tatively, her head slightly on one side, her 
muff raised till the roses and some of the soft 
fur touched her cheek. 

She looked very charming and very per- 
suasive as Chilcote glanced back. Again she 
seemed to represent a respite — something 
graceful and subtle in a world of oppressive 
obligations. Ilis eyes strayed from her figure 
to the smart motor drawn up beside the curb. 

She saw the glance. “ Ever so much 
quicker,” she insinuated; and smiling again, 
she stepped forward from the door of the 
shop. After a second’s indecision Chilcote 
followed her. 


674 


HARPERS BAZAR 


The waiting motor-car had three seats — one 
in front for the chauffeur, two vis-a-vis at 
the back, offering pleasant possibilities of a 
tete-a-tete. 

“ The Park — and drive slowly !” Lillian 
ordered as she stepped inside, motioning Chil- 
cote to the seat opposite. 

They moved up Bond Street smoothly and 
rapidly. Lillian was absorbed in the passing 
traffic until the Marble Arch was reached; 
then as they glided through the big gates she 
looked across at her companion. He had 
turned up the collar of his coat, though the 
wind was scarcely perceptible, and buried 
himself in it to the ears. 

“It is extraordinary!” she exclaimed, sud- 
denly, as her eyes rested on his face. It was 
seldom that she felt drawn to exclamation. 
She was usually too indolent to show sur- 
prise. But now the feeling was called forth 
before she was aware. 

Chilcote looked up. “ What’s extraor- 
dinary?” he said, sensitively. 

She leant forward for an instant and touch- 
ed his hand. 

“ Bear !” she said, teasingly. “ Did I rub 
your fur the wrong way?” Then, seeing his 
expression, she tactfully changed her tone. 
“ I’ll explain. It was the same thing that 
struck me the night of Blanche’s party — when 
you looked at me over Leonard Kaine’s head. 
You remember ?” She looked away from him 
across the Park to where the grass was al- 
ready showing greener. 

Chilcote felt ill at ease. Again he put his 
hand to his coat collar. 

“ Oh yes,” he said, hastily, “ yes.” He wish- 
ed now that he had questioned Loder more 
closely on the proceedings of that party. It 
seemed to him, on looking back, that Loder 
had mentioned nothing on the day of their 
last exchange save the political complications 
that absorbed his mind. 

“ I couldn’t explain then,” Lillian went on. 
“ I couldn’t explain before a crowd of people 
that it wasn’t your dark head showing over 
Leonard’s red one that surprised me, but the 
most wonderful, the most extraordinary like- 
ness — ” She paused. 

The car was moving slower ; there was a de- 
light in the easy motion through the fresh, 
early air. But Chilcote’s uneasiness had been 
aroused. He no longer felt soothed. 

“What likeness?” he asked, sharply. 

She turned to him easily. “ Oh, a likeness 
I have noticed before,” she said. “ A likeness 


that always seemed strange, but that suddenly 
became incredible at Blanche’s party.” 

He moved quickly. “ Likenesses are an il- 
lusion,” he said, “ a mere imagination of the 
brain!” His manner was short; his annoy- 
ance seemingly out of all proportion to its 
cause. Lillian looked at him afresh in slight- 
ly interested surprise. 

“ Yet not so very long ago, you yourself — ” 
she began. 

“Nonsense!” he broke in. “I’ve always 
denied likenesses. Such things don’t really 
exist. Likeness-seeing is purely an indi- 
vidual matter — a preconception.” He spoke 
fast; he was uneasy under the cool scrutiny 
of her green eyes. Then with a sharp at- 
tempt at self-control and reassurance he al- 
tered his voice. “ After all, we’re being very 
stupid!” he exclaimed. “ We’re worrying over 
something that doesn’t exist.” 

Lillian was still lazily interested. To her 
own belief she had seen Chilcote last on the 
night of her sister’s reception. Then she 
had been too preoccupied to notice either his 
manner or his health, though superficially it 
had lingered in her mind that he had seemed 
unusually reliant, unusually well on that 
night. A remembrance of the impression 
came to her now as she studied his face, 
upon which imperceptibly and yet relent- 
lessly his vice was setting its mark — in the 
dull restlessness of eye, the unhealthy sallow- 
ness of skin. 

Some shred of her thought, some sugges- 
tion of the comparison running through her 
mind, must have shown in her face, for Chil- 
cote altered his position with a touch of un- 
easiness. He glanced away across the long 
sweep of tan-covered drive stretching be- 
tween the trees; then he glanced furtively 
back. 

“ By the way,” he said, quickly, “ you want- 
ed me for something?” The memory of her 
earlier suggestion came as a sudden boon. 

Lillian lifted her muff again and smelt her 
roses thoughtfully. “ Oh, it was nothing, 
really,” she said. “ You sarcastic people give 
very shrewd suggestions sometimes, and I’ve 
been rather wanting a suggestion on an — an 
adventure that I’ve had.” She looked down 
at her flowers with a charmingly attentive air. 

But Chilcote’s restlessness had increased. 
Looking up, she suddenly caught the ex- 
pression, and her own face changed. 

“My dear Jack,” she said, softly, “what a 
bore I am! Let’s forget tedious things — and 


THE MASQUERADER 


675 


enjoy ourselves.” She leant towards him 
caressingly with an air of concern and re- 
proach. 

It was not without effect. Her soothing 
voice, her smile, her almost affectionate ges- 
ture, each carried weight. With a swift re- 
turn of assurance he responded to her tone. 

“ Right!” he said. “ Right! We will en- 
joy ourselves !” He laughed quickly, and 
again with a conscious movement lifted his 
hand to his muffler. 

“ Then we’ll postpone the advice ?” Lillian 
laughed too. 

“ Yes. Right! We’ll postpone it.” The 
word pleased him and he caught at it. “We 
won’t bother about it now, but we won’t 
shelve it altogether. We’ll postpone it.” 

“ Exactly.” Lillian settled herself more 
comfortably. “ You’ll dine with me one night 
— and we can talk it out then. I see so little 
of you nowadays,” she added, in a lower voice. 

“ My dear girl, you’re unfair !” Chilcote’s 
spirits had risen; he spoke rapidly, almost 
pleasantly. “ It isn’t I who keep away — it’s 
the stupid affairs of the world that keep me. 
I’d be with you every day — if I had my way.” 

She looked up at the bare trees. Her 
expression was a delightful mixture of amuse- 
ment, satisfaction, and scepticism. “ Then 
you will dine?” she said at last. 

“ Certainly.” His reaction to high spirits 
carried him forward. 

“ How nice ! Shall we fix a day ?” 

“ A day? Yes. Yes — if you like.” He 
hesitated for an instant, then again the im- 
pulse of the previous moment dominated his 
other feeling. “ Yes,” he said, quickly. 
“Yes. After all, why not fix it now?” 
With a sudden inclination towards amiability 
he opened his overcoat, thrust his hand into 
an inner pocket, and drew out his engage- 
ment-book — the same long narrow book fitted 
with two pencils that Loder had scanned so 
interestedly on his first morning at Grosvenor 
Square. He opened it, turning the pages 
rapidly. “ What day shall it be ? Thursday’s 
full — and Friday — and Saturday. What a 
bore !” He still talked fast. 

Lillian leant across. “ What a sweet book !” 
she said. “ But why the blue crosses ?” She 
touched one of the pages with her gloved 
finger. 

Chilcote jerked the book, then laughed 
with a touch of embarrassment. “ Oh, 
the crosses ? Merely to remind me that 
certain appointments must be kept. You 


know my beastly memory! But what about 
the day? Shall we fix the day?” His voice 
was in control, but mentally her trivial ques- 
tion had disturbed and jarred him. “ What 
day shall we say ?” he repeated. “ Monday in 
next week?” 

Lillian glanced up with a faint exclama- 
tion of disappointment. “ How horribly far 
away!” She spoke with engaging, winning 
petulance, and leaning forward afresh, drew 
the book from Chilcote’s hand. “ What 
about to-morrow?” she exclaimed, turning 
back a page. “ Why not to-morrow ? I knew 
I saw a blank space.” 

“ To-morrow ! Oh, I — I — ” He stopped. 

“ J ack !” Her voice dropped. It was true 
that she desired Chilcote’s opinion on her ad- 
venture, for Chilcote’s opinion on men and 
manners had a certain bitter shrewdness; but 
the exercise of her own power added a point 
to the desire. If the matter had ended with 
the gain or loss of a tete-a-tete with him it is 
probable that, whatever its utility, she would 
not have pressed it, but the underlying mo- 
tive was the stronger. Chilcote had been a 
satellite for years, and it was unpleasant that 
any satellite should drop away into space. 

“ Jack!” she said again, in a lower and still 
more effective tone; then lifting her muff, she 
buried her face in her flowers. “ I suppose I 
shall have to dine and go to a music-hall with 
Leonard — or stay at home by myself,” she 
murmured, looking out across the trees. 

Again Chilcote glanced over the long tan- 
strewn ride. They had made the full circuit 
of the Park. 

“ It’s tiresome being by one’s self,” she mur- 
mured again. 

For a while he was irresponsive, then slowly 
his eyes returned to her face. He watched 
her for a second, then leaning quickly to- 
wards her, he took his book and scribbled 
something in the vacant space. 

She watched him interestedly ; then her 
face lighted up as she dropped her muff. 

“Dear Jack!” she said. “ How very sweet 
of you!” Then, as he held the book towards 
her, her face fell. “Dine 33 Cadogan Gar- 
dens, 8 o’c. Talk with L.,” she read. “ Why, 
you’ve forgotten the essential thing!” 

Chilcote looked up. “ The essential thing?” 

She smiled. “ The blue cross,” she said. 
“ Isn’t it worth even a little one ?” 

The tone was very soft. Chilcote yielded. 

“You have the blue pencil,” he said, in 
sudden response to her mood. 


676 


HARPER’S BAZAR 



Drawn by CLARENCE F. UNDERWOOD. 


LODER MAKING HIS FAMOUS SPEECH. 


She glanced up in quiet pleasure at her 
success, and with a charming affectation of 
seriousness marked the engagement with a 
big cross. At the same moment the car 
slackened in speed as the chauffeur waited for 
further orders. 

Lillian shut the engagement-book and 
handed it hack. “ Where can I drop you ?” 
she asked. “ At your club ?” 

The question recalled him to a sense of 
present things. He thrust the book into his 
pocket and glanced about him. 


They had paused by 
Hyde Park corner. The 
crowd of horses and 
carriages had thinned 
as the hour of lunch 
drew near, and the 
wide roadway of the 
Park had an air of 
added space. The sug- 
gested loneliness af- 
fected him. The tall 
trees, still bereft of 
leaves, and the colos- 
sal gateway incom- 
prehensively stirred 
the sense of mental 
panic that sometimes 
seized him in face of 
vastness of space or of 
architecture. In one 
moment Lillian, the 
appointment he had 
just made, the man- 
ner of its making, all 
left him. The world 
was filled with his own 
personality, his own 
immediate inclina- 
tions. 

“ Don’t bother about 
me!” he said, quickly. 
“ I can get out here. 
You’ve been very good. 
It’s been a delightful 
morning.” With a 
hurried pressure of 
her fingers he rose and 
stepped from the car. 

Peaching the ground, 
he paused for a mo- 
ment and raised his 
hat ; then without a 
second glance he turn- 
ed and walked rapidly 
away. Lillian sat watching him meditatively. 
She saw him pass through the gateway, saw 
him hail a hansom; then she remembered the 
waiting chauffeur. 


CHAPTER XXI 

X the same day that Chilcote had 
parted with Lillian, but at three 
o’clock in the afternoon, Loder — dress- 
ed in Chilcote’s clothes and with Chil- 
cote’s heavy overcoat slung over his arm, 


O 


THE MASQUERADER 


677 


walked from Fleet Street to Grosvenor 
Square. He walked steadily, neither slowly 
nor yet fast. The elation of his last journey 
over the same ground was tempered by feel- 
ings he could not satisfactorily bracket even 
to himself. There was less of vehement ela- 
tion and more of matured determination in 
his gait and bearing than there had been 
on that night, though the incidents of 
which they were the outcome were very 
complex. 

On reaching Chilcote’s house he passed up- 
stairs, but still following the routine of his 
previous return, he did not halt at Chilcote’s 
door, but moved onward towards Eve’s sit- 
ting-room and there paused. 

In that pause his numberless irregular 
thoughts fused into one. 

He had the same undefined sense of stand- 
ing upon sacred ground that had touched 
him on the previous occasion, but the out- 
come of the sensation was different. This 
time he raised his hand almost immediately 
and tapped on the door. 

He waited, but no voice responded to his 
knock. With a sense of disappointment he 
knocked again; then, pressing his determina- 
tion still further, he turned the handle and 
entered the room. 

Ho private room is without meaning — 
whether trivial or the reverse. In a room, 
perhaps more even than in speech, in look, or 
in work, does the impress of the individual 
make itself felt. There, on the wax of outer 
things, the inner self imprints its seal — en- 
forces its fleeting claim to separate individu- 
ality. This thought, with its arresting in- 
terest, made Loder walk slowly, almost 
seriously, half-way across the room and then 
pause to study his surroundings. 

The room was of medium size — not too 
large for comfort and not too small for 
ample space. At a first impression it struck 
him as unlike any anticipation of a woman’s 
sanctum. The walls panelled in dark wood, 
the richly hound hooks, the beautifully de- 
signed bronze ornaments, even the flow- 
ers, deep crimson and violet - blue in tone, 
had an air of sombre harmony that was 
scarcely feminine. With a strangely pleas- 
ant impression he realized this, and fol- 
lowing his habitual impulse, moved slowly 
forward towards the fireplace and there 
paused, his elbow resting on the mantel- 
piece. 

He had scarcely settled comfortably into 


his position, scarcely entered on his second 
and more comprehensive study of the place, 
than the arrangement of his mind was alter- 
ed by the turning of the handle and the open- 
ing of the door. 

The newcomer was Eve herself. She was 
dressed in outdoor clothes, and walked into 
the room quickly; then, as Loder had done, 
she too paused. 

The gesture so natural and spontaneous 
had a peculiar attraction; as she glanced up 
at him, her face alight with inquiry, she 
seemed extraordinarily much the owner and 
designer of her surroundings. She was 
framed by them as naturally and effectively 
as her eyes and her face were framed by her 
black hair. For one moment he forgot that 
his presence demanded explanation; the next 
she had made explanation needless. She 
had been looking at him intently; now she 
came forward slowly. 

“John?” she said, half in appeal, half in 
question. 

He took a step towards her. “ Look at 
me!” he said, quietly and involuntarily. In 
the sharp desire to establish himself in her 
regard he forgot that her eyes had never left 
his face. 

But the incongruity of the words did not 
strike her. “ Oh !” she exclaimed, “ I — I be- 
lieve I knew , directly I saw you here.” The 
quick ring of life vibrating in her tone sur- 
prised him. But he had other thoughts more 
urgent than surprise. 

In the five days of banishment just lived 
through the need for a readjustment of his 
position with regard to her had come to him 
forcibly. The memory of the night when 
weakness and he had been at perilously close 
quarters had returned to him persistently and 
uncomfortably, spoiling the remembrance of 
his triumph. It had been well enough to 
smother the thought of that night in days 
of work. But had the ignoring of it blotted 
out the weakness? Had it not rather thrown 
it into bolder relief? A man strong in his 
own strength does not turn his back upon 
temptation; he faces and quells it. In the 
solitary days in Clifford’s Inn, in the solitary 
nights spent in tramping the city streets, 
this had been the conviction that had recur- 
red again and again, this the problem to 
which, after much consideration, he had 
found a solution — satisfactory at least to 
himself. When next Chilcote called him 
(it was notable that he had used the word 


678 


HARPERS BAZAR 


“ when ” and not “ if ”) — when next Chilcote 
called him he would make a new departure. 
He would no longer avoid Eve; he would suc- 
cessfully prove to himself that one interest 
and one alone filled his mind — the pursuance 
of Chilcote’s political career. So does man 
satisfactorily convince himself against him- 
self. He had this intention fully in mind 
as he came forward now. 

“ Well,” he said, slowly, “ has it been very 
hard to have faith — these last five days?” It 
was not precisely the tone he had meant to 
adopt; but one must begin. 

Eve turned at his words. Her eyes were 
brimming with life, her cheeks still touched 
to a deep soft color . by the keenness of the 
wintry air. 

“ No,” she answered, with a shy responsive 
touch of confidence. “ I seemed to keep on 
believing. You know converts make the best 
devotees.” She laughed with slight embar- 
rassment, and glanced up at him. Something 
in the blue of her eyes reminded him unex- 
pectedly of spring skies — full of youth and 
promise. 

He moved abruptly, and crossed the room 
towards the window. “ Eve,” he said, with- 
out looking round, “ I want your help.” 

He heard the faint rustling of her dress as 
she turned towards him, and he knew that he 
had struck the right chord. All true women 
respond to an appeal for aid as steel answers 
to the magnet. He could feel her expectancy 
in the silence. 

“ You know — we all know, that the present 
moment is very vital — that it’s impossible 
to deny the crisis in the air. Nobody feels it 
more than I do — nobody is more exorbitantly 
keen to have a share — a part, when the real 
fight comes — ” He stopped; then he turned 
slowly and their eyes met. “ If a man is to 
succeed in such a desire,” he went on, delib- 
erately, “ he must exclude all others — he must 
have one purpose, one interest, one thought. 
He must forget that — ” 

Eve lifted her head quickly. “ That he has 
a wife,” she finished, gently. “ I think I 
understand.” 

There was no annoyance in her face or 
voice, no suggestion of selfishness or of hurt 
vanity. She had read his meaning with dis- 
concerting clearness, and responded with dis- 
concerting generosity. A sudden and very 
human dissatisfaction with his readjustment 
scheme fell upon Loder. Opposition is the 


whip to action; a too ready acquiescence the 
slackened rein. 

“ Did I say that ?” he asked, quickly. The 
tone was almost Chilcote’s. 

She glanced up; then a sudden, incompre- 
hensible smile lighted up her face. 

“ You didn’t say, but you thought,” she an- 
swered, gravely. “ Thoughts are the same 
as words to a woman. That’s why we are so 
unreasonable.” Again she smiled. Some 
idea, baffling and incomprehensible to Loder, 
was stirring in her mind. 

Conscious of the impression, he moved still 
nearer. “ You jump to conclusions,” he said, 
abruptly. “ What I meant to imply — ” 

“ Was precisely what I’ve understood.” 
Again she finished his sentence. Then she 
laughed softly. “ How very wise, but how 
very, very foolish men are! You come to the 
conclusion that because a woman is — is inter- 
ested in you she is going to hamper you in 
some direction, and after infinite pains you 
summon all your tact and you set about 
saving the situation.” There was interest, 
even a touch of amusement, in her tone; her 
eyes were still fixed upon his in an indefinable 
glance. “You think you are being very dip- 
lomatic,” she went on, quietly, “ but in reality 
you are being very transparent. The woman 
reads the whole of your meaning in your very 
first sentence — if she hasn’t known it before 
you began to speak.” 

Again Loder made an interruption, but 
again she checked him. 

“ No,” she said, still smiling. “ You 
should never attempt such a task. Shall I 
tell you why?” 

Loder stood silent, puzzled and interested. 

“ Because,” she said, quickly, “ when a 
woman really is — interested, the man’s career 
ranks infinitely higher in her eyes than any 
personal desire for power.” 

For a moment their eyes met, then ab- 
ruptly Loder looked away. She had gauged 
his intentions incorrectly, yet with discon- 
certing insight. Again the suggestion of an 
unusual personality below the serenity of her 
manner recurred to his imagination, stirred 
by her words. 

With an impulse altogether foreign to him 
he lifted his head and again met her glance. 
Then at last he spoke, hut only two words. 
“ Forgive me !” he said, with simple, direct 
sincerity. 

[to be continued.] 


TEE CANTON-FLANNEL BABBIT 


749 


Where the cats and kittens haven't 
any tails with which to play, 
And, moreover,’ are extremely 
proud of it ! 



li. -JA 


How eagerly he listened then while Harriet de- 
scribed 

Her Manx pussy-cat : joy almost made him pale ! 

half the comfort he 
imbibed 

From the fact that Soderic 
hasn't any tail ! 



He can bear unmoved the silent staring of the Rub- 
ber Cow — 

Rag -doll Dick's remarks 

no longer make him /[/ |j 

sore* 

He only says, serenely, 

“ Tails are out of fash- 
ion now — 

Cats abroad — and /—don't wear them any more I' 1 




750 


HARPER’S BAZAR 



& 

KATHERINE CECIL THURSTON 


ILLUSTRATED BY 
CLARENCE F UNDERWOOD 




CHAPTER XXII 
FTER his interview with Eve, 
Loder retired to the study and 
spent the remaining hours of 
the day and the whole span of 
the evening in work. At one 
o’clock, still feeling fresh in 
mind and body, he dismissed Greening and 
passed into Chilcote’s bedroom. The inter- 
view with Eve, though widely different from 
the one he had anticipated, had left him 
stimulated and alert. In the hours that fol- 
lowed it there had been an added anxiety to 
put his mind into harness, an added gratifica- 
tion in finding it answer to the rein. 

A pleasant sense of retrospection settled 
upon him as he slowly undressed, and a 
pleasant sense of interest touched him as, 
crossing to the dressing-table, he caught sight 
of Chilcote’s engagement-book — taken with 
other things from the suit he had changed at 
dinner-time and carefully laid aside by Ren- 
wick. 

He picked it up and slowly turned the 
pages. It always held the suggestion of a 
lottery — this dipping into another man’s en- 
gagements and drawing a prize or a blank. 
It was a sensation that even custom had not 
dulled. 

At first he turned the pages slowly, then by 
degrees his fingers quickened. Beyond the 
fact that this present evening was free he 
knew nothing of his promised movements. 
The abruptness of Chilcote’s arrival at Clif- 
ford’s Inn in the afternoon had left no time 
for superfluous questions. He skimmed the 
writing with a touch of interested haste, then 
all at once he paused and smiled. 

Begun in Harper’s Bazar No- i., Vol. XXXVIII. 


“ Big enough for a tombstone !” he said 
below his breath as his eyes rested on a large 
blue cross. Then he smiled again and held 
the book to the light. 

“ Dine 33 Cadogan Gardens, 8 o’c. Talk 
with L.,” he read, still speaking softly to him- 
self. 

He stood for a moment pondering on the 
entry, then once more his glance reverted to 
the cross. 

“ Evidently meant it to be seen,” he 
mused ; il hut why the deuce isn’t he more ex- 
plicit!” Then suddenly a look of compre- 
hension crossed his face and the puzzled 
frown between his eyebrows cleared away. 

With a feeling of satisfaction he remem- 
bered Lakeley’s frequent and pressing sug- 
gestion that he should dine with him at Cado- 
gan Gardens and discuss the political outlook. 

Lakeley must have written during his ab- 
sence, and Chilcote, having marked the en- 
gagement, felt no further responsibility. The 
invitation could scarcely have been verbal, as 
Chilcote, he knew, had lain very low in the 
five days of his return home. 

So he argued, as he stood with the book still 
open in his hands, the blue cross staring im- 
peratively from the white paper. And from 
the argument rose thoughts and suggestions 
that seethed in his mind long after the lights 
had been switched off, long after the fire had 
died down and he had been left wrapped in 
darkness in the great canopied bed. 

And so it came about that he took his 
second false step. Once during the press of 
the next morning’s work it crossed his mind 
to verify his convictions by a glance at the 
directory. But for once the strong wish that 
evolves a thought conquered his caution. His 



TIIE MASQUERADER 


751 


work was absorbing; the need of verification 
seemed very small. He let the suggestion 
pass. 

At seven o’clock he dressed carefully. His 
mind was full of Lakeley and of the possi- 
bilities the night might hold; for more than 
once before the weight of the St. George's 
Gazette with Lakeley at its back had turned 
the political scales. To be marked by him 
as a coming man was at any time a favor- 
able portent; to be singled out by him at the 
present juncture was momentous. A thrill of 
expectancy, almost of excitement, passed 
through him as he surveyed his appearance 
preparatory to leaving the house, and then 
passed down-stairs. 

Once in the hall, he moved straight to the 
door; but almost as his hand touched it he 
halted, attracted by a movement on the 
landing at the head of the stairs. Turning, 
he saw Eve. 

She was standing quite still, looking down 
upon him as she had looked once before. As 
their eyes met, she changed her position 
hastily. 

“You are going out?” she asked. And it 
struck Loder quickly that there was a sug- 
gestion, a shadow, of disappointment in the 
tone of her voice. Moved by the impression, 
he responded with unusual promptness. 

“ Yes,” he said. “ I’m dining out — dining 
with Lakeley.” 

She watched him intently while he spoke; 
then, as the meaning of his words reached 
her, her whole face brightened. 

“With Mr. Lakeley?” she said. “Oh, I’m 
glad — very glad. It is quite — quite another 
step.” She smiled with a warm, impulsive 
touch of sympathy. 

Loder, looking up at her, felt his senses 
stir. At sound of her words his secret craving 
for success quickened to stronger life. The 
man whose sole incentive lies within may go 
forward coldly and successfully; but the man 
who grasps a double inspiration, who, even 
unconsciously, is impelled by another force, 
has a stronger impetus for attack, a surer, 
more vital hewing power. Still watching her, 
he answered instinctively. 

“ Yes,” he said, slowly, “ a long step.” 
With a smile of farewell he turned, opened 
the door, and passed into the road. 

The thrill of that one moment was still 
warm as he reached Cadogan Gardens and 
mounted the steps of No. 33. So vitally warm 
that he paused an instant before pressing the 


electric bell. Then at last dominated by 
anticipation, he turned and raised his hand. 

The action was abrupt, and it was only as 
his fingers pressed the bell that a certain un- 
expectedness, a certain want of suitability in 
the aspect of the house, struck him. The 
door was white, the handle and knocker were 
of massive silver. The first seemed a disap- 
pointing index of Lakeley’s private taste, the 
second a ridiculous temptation to needy hu- 
manity. He looked again at the number of 
the house, but it stared back at him con- 
vincingly. Then the door opened. 

So keen was his sense of unfitness that, 
still trying to fuse his impression of Lake- 
ley with the idea of silver door-fittings, he 
stepped into the hall without the usual pre- 
liminary question. Then suddenly realizing 
the necessity, he turned to the servant; but 
the man forestalled him: 

“Will you come to the white room, sir? 
And may I take your coat?” 

The smooth certainty of the man’s manner 
surprised him. It held another savor of dis- 
appointment — seeming as little in keeping 
with the keen, businesslike Lakeley as did a 
silver knocker or a white room. Still strug- 
gling with his impression, he allowed himself 
to be relieved of his hat and coat, and in 
silence ushered up the shallow staircase. 

As the last step was reached it came to 
him again to mention his host’s name; but 
simultaneously with the suggestion the serv- 
ant stepped forward with a quick, silent 
movement and threw open a door. 

“ Mr. Chilcote !” he announced, in a sub- 
dued, discreet voice. 

Loder’s first impression was of a room that 
seemed unusually luxurious, soft, and shad- 
owed. Then all impression of inanimate 
things left him suddenly. 

For the fraction of a second he stood in 
the doorway, while the room seemed emptied 
of everything except one figure, that rose 
slowly from a couch before the fire at sound 
of Chilcote’s name; then, with a calmness 
that to himself seemed incredible, he moved 
forward into the room. 

He might, of course, have beaten a retreat 
and obviated many things; but life is full of 
might-have-beens; and retreat never presents 
itself agreeably to a strong man. His im- 
pulse was to face the difficulty and he acted 
on the impulse. 

Lillian had risen slowly; and as he. neared 
her she held out her hand. 


752 


HARPERS BAZAR 


“Jack!” she exclaimed, softly. “How 
sweet of you to remember!” 

The voice and words came to him with 
great distinctness, and as they came one un- 
certainty passed forever from his mind — the 
question as to what relation she and Chilcote 
held to each other. With the realization 
came the thought of Eve, and in the midst 
of his own difficulty his face hardened. 

Lillian ignored the coldness. Taking his 
hand, she smiled very sweetly. “ You’re un- 
usually punctual,” she said. “ But your 
hands are cold. Come closer to the fire.” 

Loder was not sensible that his hands were 
cold, but he suffered himself to be drawn 
forward. 

One end of the couch was in firelight, the 
other in shadow. By a fortunate arrange- 
ment of chance Lillian selected the brighter 
end for herself and offered the other to 
her guest. With a quick sense of respite 
he accepted it. At least he could sit se- 
cure from detection while he temporized with 
fate. 

For a moment they sat silent, then Lillian 
stirred. “Won’t you smoke?” she asked. 

Everything in the room seemed soft and 
enervating — the subdued glow of the fire, the 
comfort of the couch, the smell of roses that 
hung about the air, and, last of all, Lillian’s 
slow, soothing voice. With a sense of oppres- 
sion he stiffened his shoulders and sat 
straighter in his place. 

“No,” he said, “I don’t think I shall 
smoke.” 

She moved nearer to him. “Dear Jack,” 
she said, pleadingly, “ don’t say you’re in a 
bad mood. Don’t say you want to postpone 
again.” She looked up at him and laughed 
a little in mock consternation. 

Loder was at a loss. 

Another silence followed while Lillian 
waited; then she frowned suddenly and rose 
from the couch. Like many indolent people, 
she possessed a touch of obstinacy; and now 
that her triumph over Chilcote was obtained, 
now that she had vindicated her right to 
command him, her original purpose came 
uppermost again. Cold or interested, indif- 
ferent or attentive, she intended to make use 
of him. 

She moved to the fire and stood looking 
down into it; then slowly but decisively she 
turned back to the couch and took up her 
former place. 

“Jack,” she began, gently, “a really 


amazing thing has happened to me. I do so 
want you to throw some light.” 

Loder said nothing. 

There was a fresh pause while she softly 
smoothed the silk embroidery that edged her 
gown. Then once more she looked up at 
him. 

“ Did I ever tell you,” she began, “ that I 
was once in a railway accident — on a funny 
little Italian railway, centuries before I met 
you?” She laughed; then, as Loder still 
kept silent, she went on again: 

“ Astrupp had caught a fever in Florence, 
and I was rushing away for fear of the in- 
fection, when our stupid little train ran off 
the rails near Pistoria and smashed itself up. 
Fortunately we were within half a mile of 
a village, so we weren’t quite bereft. The 
village was impossibly like a toy village, 
and the accommodation what one would ex- 
pect in a Noah’s Ark, but it was all absolutely 
picturesque. I put up at the little inn with 
my maid and Ko Ko — Ko Ko was such a 
sweet dog — a white poodle. I was tremen- 
dously keen on poodles that year.” She 
stopped and looked thoughtfully towards the 
fire; then slowly back at Loder. 

“ But to come to the point of the story. 
Jack, the toy village had a boy doll!” She 
laughed again. “ He was an Englishman — 
and the first person to come to my rescue on 
the night of the smash-up. He also stayed 
at the little inn, and after that first night I — 
he — we — ” She hesitated. “ Oh, Jack, 
haven’t you any imagination ?” The man who 
is indifferent to the recital of an old love-af- 
fair implies the worst kind of listener. “ I 
believe you aren’t interested,” she added, in 
another and more reproachful tone. 

He leant forward. “You’re wrong there,” 
he said, slowly. “ I’m vitally interested.” 

She glanced at him again. His tone re- 
assured her, but his words left her uncer- 
tain; Chilcote was rarely emphatic. With 
a touch of hesitation she went on with her 
tale: 

“ As I told you, he was the first to find us — 
to find me, I should say, for my maid was 
having hysterics further up the line, and 
Ko Ko was lost. I remember the first thing 
I did was to send him in search of Ko Ko — ” 

Notwithstanding his position, Loder found 
occasion to smile. “ Did he succeed ?” he 
said, dryly. 

“ Succeed ? Oh yes, he succeeded.” She also 
smiled involuntarily. “ Poor Ko Ko was. 


THE MASQUERADER 


753 


stowed away under the luggage-van ; and 
after quite a lot of trouble he pulled him 
out. When it was all done Ko Ko was quite 
unhurt and livelier than ever, but the Eng- 
lishman had his finger almost bitten through. 
Ko Ko was a dear, but his teeth and his tem- 
per were both very sharp !” She laughed once 
more in soft amusement. 

Loder was silent for a second, then he too 
laughed — Chilcote’s short, sarcastic laugh. 
“ And you tied up the wound, I suppose ?” 

She glanced up, half displeased. “ We 
were both staying at the little inn,” she said, 
as though no further explanation could be 
needed. Then again her manner changed. 
She moved imperceptibly nearer and touched 
his right hand. His left, which was farther 
away from her, was well in the shadow of the 
cushions. 

“Jack,” she said, caressingly, “it isn’t to 
tell you this stupid old story that I’ve brought 
you here; it’s really to tell you a sort of 
sequel.” She stroked his hand gently once or 
twice. “As I say, I met this man and we — 
we had an affair. You understand? Then 
we quarrelled — quarrelled quite badly— and 
I came away. I’ve remembered him rather 
longer than I remember most people — he was 
one of those dogged individuals who stick in 
one’s mind. And since, he has stayed there 
for another reason — ” Again she looked up. 
“ He has stayed because you helped to keep 
him there. You know how I have sometimes 
put my hands over your mouth and told you 
that your eyes reminded me of some one else ? 
Well, that some one else was my Englishman. 
But you mustn’t be jealous; he was a horrid, 
obstinate person, and you — well, you know 
what I think — ” She pressed his hand. 
“ But to come to the end of the story, I never 
saw this man since that long-ago time until — 
until the night of Blanche’s party!” She 
spoke slowly, to give full effect to her words; 
then she waited for his surprise. 

The result was not what she expected. He 
said nothing; but with an abrupt movement 
he drew his hand from between hers. 

“ Aren’t you surprised ?” she asked at last, 
with a delicate note of reproof. 

He started slightly, as if recalled to the 
necessity of the moment. “ Surprised ?” he 
said. “ Why should I be surprised ? One 
person more or less at a big party isn’t aston- 
ishing. Besides, you expect a man to turn up 
sooner or later in his own country. Why 
should I be surprised ?” 

vol. xxxvm. — 48 


She lay back luxuriously. “ Because, my 
dear boy,” she said, softly, “it’s more than 
that — it’s a mystery! It’s one of those fasci- 
nating mysteries that come once in a life- 
time.” 

Loder made no movement. “ You must 
explain,” he said, very quietly. 

Lillian smiled. “ That’s just what I want 
to do. When I was in my tent on the night 
of Blanche’s party, a man came to be gazed 
for. He came just like anybody else, and 
laid his hands upon the table. He had 
strong, thin hands like — well, rather like 
yours. But he wore two rings on the third 
finger of his left hand — a heavy signet ring 
and a plain gold one.” 

Loder moved his hand imperceptibly till 
the cushion covered it. Lillian’s words 
caused him no surprise, scarcely even any 
trepidation. Lie felt now that he had expect- 
ed them, even waited for them all along. 

“ I asked him to take off his rings,” she 
went on, “ and just for a second he hesitated 
— I could feel him hesitate; then he seemed 
to make up his mind, for he drew them off. 
He drew them off. Jack, and guess what I 
saw ! Do guess !” 

For the first time Loder involuntarily drew 
back into his corner of the couch. “ I never 
guess,” he said, brusquely. 

“ Then I’ll tell you. His hands were the 
hands of my Englishman! The rings covered 
the scar made by Ko Ko’s teeth. I knew it 
instantly — the second my eyes rested on it. 
It was the same scar that I had bound up 
dozens of times, that I had seen healed be- 
fore I left Santasalare.” 

“ And you ? What did you do ?” Loder 
felt it singularly difficult and unpleasant to 
speak. 

“Ah, that’s the point. That’s where I was 
stupid and made my mistake. I should have 
spoken to him on the moment, but I didn’t. 
You know how one sometimes hesitates. 
Afterwards it was too late.” 

“ But you saw him afterwards — in the 
rooms?” Loder spoke unwillingly. 

“No, I didn’t — that’s the other point. I 
didn’t see him in the rooms, and I haven’t 
seen him since. Directly he was gone, I left 
the tent — I pretended to be hungry and 
bored ; but though I went through every 
room, he was nowhere to be found. Once — ” 
she hesitated and laughed again — “once I 
thought I had found him, but it was only 
you — you, as you stood in that doorway with 


754 


HARPERS BAZAR 


your mouth and chin hidden by Leonard 
Kaine’s head. Wasn’t it a quaint mistake?” 

There was an uncertain pause. Then 
Loder, feeling the need of speech, broke the 
silence suddenly. “ Where do I come in ?” he 
asked, abruptly. “ What am I wanted for ?” 

“ To help to throw light on the mystery ! 
I’ve seen Blanche’s list of people, and there 
wasn’t a man I couldn’t place — no outsider 
ever squeezes through Blanche’s door. I have 
questioned Bobby Blessington, but he can’t 
remember who came to the tent last. And 
Bobby was supposed to have kept count!” 
She spoke in deep scorn ; then the scorn 
faded and she smiled again. “ Well, now that 
I’ve explained. Jack, what do you suggest?” 

Then for the first time Loder knew what 
his presence in the room really meant; and 
at best the knowledge was disconcerting. It 
is not every day that a man is called upon to 
unearth himself. 

“ Suggest ?” he repeated, blankly. 

“ Yes. I’d rather have your idea of the 
affair than anybody else’s. You are so dear 
and sarcastic and keen that you can’t help 
getting straight at the middle of a fact.” 

When Lillian wanted anything she could 
be very sweet. She suddenly dropped her 
half-petulant tone; she suddenly ceased to 
be a spoilt child. With a perfectly graceful 
movement she drew quite close to Loder and 
slid gently to her knees. 

This is an attitude that few women can 
safely assume; it requires all the attributes 
of youth, suppleness, and a certain buoyant 
ease. But Lillian never acted without justifi- 
cation, and as she leant towards Loder, her 
face lifted, her slight figure and pale hair 
softened by the firelight, she made a picture 
that it would have been difficult to criticise. 

But the person who should have appreci- 
ated it stared steadily beyond it to the fire. 
His mind was absorbed by one question — the 
question of how he might reasonably leave the 
house before discovery became assured. 

Lillian, attentively watchful of him, saw 
the uneasy look, and her own face fell. Then 
an inspiration came to her — a remembrance 
of many interviews with Chilcote smoothed 
and facilitated by the timely use of tobacco. 

“ J ack,” she said, softly, “ before you say 
another word I insist on your lighting a 
cigarette.” She leant forward, resting 
against his knee. 

At her words Loder’s eyes left the fire. 
His attention was suddenly needed for a new 


and more imminent difficulty. “ Thanks !” he 
said, quickly. “ I — I have no wish to smoke.” 

“ It isn’t a matter of what you wish, but of 
what I say.” She smiled. She knew that 
Chilcote with a cigarette between his lips 
was infinitely more tractable than Chilcote 
sitting idle, and she had no intention of 
ignoring the knowledge. 

But Loder caught at her words. “ Before 
you ordered me to smoke,” he said, “ you told 
me to give you some advice. Your first com- 
mand must have prior claim.” He grasped 
unhesitatingly at the less risky theme. 

She looked up at him. “ You’re always 
nicer when you smoke,” she persisted, caress- 
ingly. “ Light a cigarette — and give me one.” 

Loder’s mouth became set. “ No,” he said, 
“ we’ll stick to this advice business. It inter- 
ests me.” 

“ Yes — afterwards.” 

“ No, now. You want to find out why this 
Englishman from Italy was at your sister’s 
party, and why he disappeared?” 

There are times when a malignant ob- 
stinacy seems to affect certain people. The 
only answer Lillian made was to pass her 
hand over Loder’s waistcoat, and, feeling his 
cigarette-case, to draw it from the pocket. 

He affected not to see it. “ Ho you think 
he recognized you in that tent?” he insisted, 
desperately. 

Lillian held out the case. “ Here are your 
cigarettes. You know we’re always more 
•social when we smoke.” 

In the short interval while she looked up 
into his face several ideas passed through 
Loder’s mind. He thought of standing up 
suddenly and so regaining his advantage; he 
wondered quickly whether one hand could 
possibly suffice for the taking out and light- 
ing of two cigarettes. Then all need for 
speculation was pushed suddenly aside. 

Lillian, looking into his face, saw his fresh 
look of disturbance, and from long experience 
again changed her tactics. Laying the 
cigarette-case on the couch, she put one hand 
on his shoulder, the other on his left arm. 
Hundreds of times this caressing touch had 
quieted Chilcote. 

“Hear old boy!” she said, soothingly, her 
hand moving slowly down his arm. 

In a flash, of understanding the conse- 
quences of this position came to him. Ac- 
tion was imperative, at whatever risk. With 
an abrupt gesture he rose. 

The movement was awkward. He got to 





Drawn by Clarence F. Underwood. 




LILLIAN SLID GENTLY TO HER KNEES 


756 


HARPERS BAZAR 


his feet precipitately; Lillian drew back, sur-. 
prised and startled, catching involuntarily at 
his left hand to steady her position. 

Her fingers grasped at, then held his. He 
made no effort to release them. With a 
dogged acknowledgment, he admitted himself 
worsted. 

How long she stayed immovable, holding 
his hand, neither of them knew. The process 
of a woman’s instinct is so subtle, so obscure, 
that it would have been futile to apply the 
commonplace test of time. She kept her 
hold tenaciously, as though his fingers pos- 
sessed some peculiar virtue; then at last she 
spoke. 

“Rings, Jack?” she said, slowly. And 
under the two short words a whole world of 
incredulity and surmise made itself felt. 

Loder laughed. 

At the sound she dropped his hand and 
rose from her knees. What her suspicions, 
what her instincts were she could not have 
clearly defined, but her action was unhesb- 
tating. Without a moment’s uncertainty she 
turned to the fireplace, pressed the electric 
button, and flooded the room with light. 

There is no force so demoralizing as unex- 
pected light. Loder took a step backward, 
his hand hanging unguarded by his side ; 
and Lillian, stepping forward, caught it 
again before he could protest. Lifting it 
quickly, she looked scrutinizingly at the two 
rings. 

All women jump to conclusions, and it is 
extraordinary how seldom they jump short. 
Seeing only what Lillian saw, knowing only 
what she knew, no man would have staked a 
definite opinion; but the other sex takes a 
different view. As she stood gazing at the 
rings, her thoughts and her conclusions sped 
through her mind like arrows — all aimed and 
all tending towards one point. She remem- 
bered the day when she and Chilcote had 
talked of doubles, . her scepticism and his 
vehement defence of the idea ; his sudden in- 
terest in the book Other Men's Shods , and his 
anathema against life and its irksome round 
of duties. She remembered her own first con- 
vinced recognition of the eyes that had look- 
ed at her in the doorway of her sister’s 
house; and last of all she remembered GfKib*, 
cote’s unaccountable avoidance of the same 
subject of likenesses when she had mentioned 
it yesterday driving through the Park — and 
with it his unnecessarily curt repudiation of 
his former opinions. She reviewed each item, 


then she raised her head slowly and looked at 
Loder. 

He was prepared for the glance, and met 
it steadily. In the long moment that her 
eyes searched his face it was she and not he 
who changed color. She was the first to speak. 
“ You were the man whose hands I saw in 
the tent,” she said. She made the statement 
in her usual soft tones, but a slight tremor 
of excitement underran her voice. Poodles, 
Persian kittens, even crystal gazing - balls, 
seemed very far away in face of this tangible, 
fabulous, present interest. “You are not Jack 
Chilcote,” she said, very slowly. “ You are 
wearing his clothes, and speaking in his voice, 
but you are not Jack Chilcote.” Then her 
tone quickened with a touch of excitement. 
“ You needn’t keep silent and look at me,” 
she said. “ I know quite well what I am say- 
ing — though I don’t understand it, though I 
have no real proof — ” She paused, momen- 
tarily disconcerted by her companion’s silent 
and steady gaze, and in the pause a curious 
and unexpected thing occurred. 

Loder laughed suddenly — a full, confident, 
reassured laugh. All the web that the past 
half-hour had spun about him, all the in- 
tolerable sense of an impending crash, lifted 
suddenly. He saw his way clearly — and it 
w T as Lillian who had opened his eyes. 

Still looking at her, he smiled — a smile of 
reliant determination, such as Chilcote had 
never worn in his life. Then quite calmly he 
released his hand. 

“ The greatest charm of woman is her 
imagination,” he said, quietly. “ Without it 
there would be no color in life; we would 
come into and drop out of it with the same 
uninteresting tone of drab reality.” He 
paused and smiled again. 

At his smile Lillian involuntarily drew 
back, the color deepening in her cheeks. 
“ Why do you say that ?” she asked. 

He lifted his head. With each moment he 
felt more certain of himself. “ Because that 
is my attitude,” he said. “As a man I ad- 
mire your imagination, but as a man I fail 
to follow your reasoning.” 

The words and the tone both stung her. 
“ Do you realize the position ?” she asked, 
sharply. “ Do you realize that, whatever your 
plans are, I can spoil them?” 

Loder still met her eyes. “ I realize noth- 
ing of the sort,” he said. 

“ Then you admit that you are not J ack 
Chilcote?” 


THE MASQUERADER 


757 


“ I neither deny nor admit. My identity 
is obvious. I can get twenty men to swear 
to it at any moment that you like. The fact 
that I haven’t worn rings till now will 
scarcely interest them.” 

“ But you do admit — to me, that you are 
not Jack?” 

“ I deny nothing — and admit nothing. 
But I still offer my congratulations.” 

“ Upon what?” 

“ The same possession — your imagination.” 

Lillian stamped her foot. Then, by a quick 
effort, she conquered her temper. “ Prove me 
to be wrong!” she said, with a fresh touch of 
excitement. “ Take off your rings and let me 
see your hand.” 

With a deliberate gesture Loder put his 
hand behind his back. “ I never gratify 
childish curiosity,” he said, with another 
smile. 

Again a flash of temper crossed her eyes. 
“ Are you sure,” she said, “ that it’s quite 
wise to talk like that ?” 

Loder laughed again. “ Is that a threat?” 

“ Perhaps.” 

“ Then it’s an empty one.” 

“ Why ?” She turned round. 

Before replying, he waited a moment, look- 
ing down at her. 

“ I conclude,” he began, quietly, “ that your 
idea is to spread this wild, improbable story— 
to ask people to believe that John Chilcote, 
whom they see before them, is not John Chil- 
cote, but somebody else. Mow you’ll find that 
a harder task than you imagine. This is a 
sceptical world, and people are absurdly fond 
of their own eyesight. Wq. are all journalists 
nowadays — we all want facts. The first thing 
you will be asked for is your proof. And 
what does your proof consist of? The cir- 
cumstance that John Chilcote, who has al- 
ways despised jewelry, has lately taken to 
wearing rings! Your own statement, unat- 
tended by any witnesses, that with those 
rings off, his finger bears a scar belonging to 
another man! Mo; on close examination I 
scarcely imagine that your case would hold.” 
He stopped, fired by his own logic. The 
future might be Chilcote’s, but the present 
was his — and this present, with its immeas- 
urable possibilities, had been rescued from 
catastrophe. “ Mo,” he said, again. “ When 
you get your proof perhaps we’ll have another 
talk; but till then — ” 

“Till then?” She looked up quickly; then 
she stopped. 


The door had opened, and the servant who 
had admitted Loder stood in the opening. 

“ Dinner is served, your ladyship !” he an- 
nounced in his deferential voice. 

CHAPTER XXIII 

A MD Loder dined with Lillian Astrupp. 
We live in an age when society expects, 
k even exacts, much. He dined, not 
through bravado and not through cowardice, 
but because it seemed the obvious, the only 
thing to do. To him a scene of any descrip- 
tion was distasteful; to Lillian it was un- 
known. In her world people loved or hated, 
were spiteful or foolish, were even quixotic or 
dishonorable, but they seldom made scenes. 
Loder tacitly saw and tacitly accepted this. 

Possibly they ate extremely little during 
the course of the dinner, and talked extraor- 
dinarily much on subjects that interested 
neither ; but the main point at least was 
gained. They dined. The conventionalities 
were appeased; the silent, watchful servants 
who waited on them were given no food for 
comment. The fact that Loder left imme- 
diately after dinner, the fact that he paused 
on the door-step after the hall door had closed 
behind him, and drew a long, deep breath of 
relief, held only an individual significance 
and, therefore, did not count. 

On reaching Chilcote’s house, he passed at 
once to the study and dismissed Greening fox; 
the night. But scarcely had he taken advan- 
tage of his solitude by settling into an arm- 
chair and lighting a cigar than Renwick, 
displaying an unusual amount of haste and 
importance, entered the room, carrying a 
letter. 

Seeing Loder, he came forward at once. 
“Mr. Fraide’s man brought this, sir,” he ex- 
plained. “ He was most particular to give 
it into my hands — making sure ’twould reach 
you. He’s waiting for an answer, sir.” 

Loder rose and took the letter, a quick 
thrill of speculation and interest springing 
across his mind. During his time of banish- 
ment he had followed the political situation 
with feverish attention, insupportably chafed 
by the desire to share in it, apprehensively 
chilled at the thought of Chilcote’s possible 
behavior. He knew that in the comparatively 
short interval since Parliament had risen no 
act of aggression had marked the Russian oc- 
cupation of Meshed, but he also knew that 
Fraide and his followers looked askance at 


758 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


that great power’s amiable attitude, and at 
sight of his leader’s message his intuition 
stirred. 

Turning to the nearest lamp, he tore the 
envelope apart and scanned the letter anxious- 
ly. It was written in Fraide’s own clear, 
somewhat old-fashioned, writing, and opened 
with a kindly rebuke for his desertion of him 
since the day of his speech ; then immediately 
and with characteristic clearness it opened up 
the subject nearest the writer’s mind. 

Very slowly and attentively Loder read the 
letter; then with the extreme quiet that with 
him invariably covered emotion he moved to 
the desk, wrote a note, and handed it to the 
waiting servant. Then as the man turned 
towards the door he called him. 

“ Renwick !” he said, sharply, “ when you’ve 
given that letter to Mr. Fraide’s servant, ask 
Mrs. Chilcote if she can spare me five 
minutes.” 

When Renwick had gone and closed the 
door behind him, Loder paced the room with 
feverish activity. In one moment the aspect 
of life had been changed. Five minutes since 
he had been glorying in the risk of a barely 
saved situation; now that situation with its 
merely social complications had become a 
matter of small importance. 

His long striding steps had carried him to 
the fireplace, and his back was towards the 
door when at last the handle turned. He 
wheeled round to receive Eve’s message; then 
a look of pleased surprise crossed his face. 
It was Eve herself who stood in the doorway. 

Without hesitation his lips parted. “ Eve,” 
he said, abruptly, “ I have had great news ! 
Russia has shown her teeth at last. Two 
caravans belonging to a British trader were 
yesterday interfered with by a band of Cos- 
sacks. The affair occurred a couple of miles 
outside Meshed ; the traders remonstrated, 
but the Russians made summary use of their 
advantage. Two Englishmen were wounded 
and one of them has since died. Fraide has 
only now received the news — which cannot be 
overrated. It gives the precise lever neces- 
sary for the big move at the Reassembling.” 
He spoke with great earnestness and unusual 
haste. As he finished he took a step forward. 
“ But that’s not all !” he added. “ Fraide 
wants the great move set in motion by a great 
speech — and he has asked me to make it.” 

For a moment Eve waited. She looked at 
him in silence, and in that silence he read 
in her eyes the reflection of his own ex- 


pression. Then she also came nearer by a 
step. 

“ And you ?” she asked, in a suppressed 
voice. “ What answer did you give?” 

He watched her for an instant, taking a 
strange pleasure in her flushed face and bril- 
liantly eager eyes; then the joy of conscious 
strength, the sense of opportunity regained, 
swept all other considerations out of sight. 

“ I accepted,” he said, quickly. “ Could 
any man who was merely human have done 
otherwise ?” 

That was Loder’s attitude and action on 
the night of his jeopardy and his success, and 
the following day found his mood unchanged. 
He was one of those rare individuals who 
never give a promise overnight and regret it 
in the morning. Fie was slow to move, but 
when he did the movement brushed all ob- 
stacles aside. In the first days of his usurpa- 
tion he had gone cautiously, half fascinated, 
half distrustful ; then the reality, the extraor- 
dinary tangibility of the position had gripped 
him when, matching himself for the first time 
with men of his own calibre, he had learnt 
his real weight on the day of his protest 
against the Easter adjournment. With that 
knowledge had been born the dominant factor 
in his whole scheme — the overwhelming, insist- 
ent desire to manifest his power. That de- 
sire that is the salvation or the ruin of every 
strong man who has once realized his strength. 
Supremacy was the note to which his am- 
bition reached, supremacy was the echo that 
sprang from a dozen dormant cells of con- 
sciousness at Fraide’s summons. To trample 
out Chilcote’s footmarks with his own had 
been his tacit instinct from the first; now 
it rose paramount. It was the whole theory 
of creation — the survival of the fittest — this 
deep egotistical certainty that he was the 
better man. 

And it was with this conviction that he en- 
tered on the vital period of his dual career. 
The imminent crisis, and his own share in it, 
absorbed him absolutely. In the weeks that 
followed his answer to Fraide’s proposal he 
gave himself ungrudgingly to his work. He 
wrote, read, and planned with tireless energy; 
he frequently forgot to eat, and slept only 
through sheer exhaustion; in the fullest sense 
of the word he lived for the culminating hour 
that was to bring him failure or success. 

He seldom left Grosvenor Square in the 
days that followed, except to confer with his 


THE MASQUERADER 


Y59 


party. All his interest, all his relaxation 
^even, lay in his work and what pertained to 
it. His strength was like a solid wall, his 
intelligence as sharp and keen as steel. The 
moment was his, and by sheer mastery of will 
he put other considerations out of sight. He 
forgot Chilcote and forgot Lillian — not be- 
cause they escaped his memory, but because 
he chose to shut them from it. 

Of Eve he saw but little in this time of 
high pressure. When a man touches the core 
of his capacities, puts his best into the work 
that in his eyes stands paramount, there is 
little place for, and no need of, woman. She 
comes before — and after. She inspires, com- 
pensates, or completes, but the achievement, 
the creation, is man’s alone. And all true 
women understand and yield to this unspoken 
precept. 

Eve watched the progress of his labor, and 
in the depth of her own heart the watching 
came nearer to actual living than any activi- 
ty she had known. She was an onlooker — 
but an onlooker who stood, as it were, on the 
steps of the arena; who by a single forward 
movement could feel the sand under her feet, 
the breath of the battle on her face, and in 
this knowledge she rested satisfied. 

There were hours when Loder seemed 
scarcely conscious of her existence; but on 
those occasions she smiled in her serene way 
— and went on waiting. She knew that be- 
fore half the day was passed he would come 
into her sitting-room, his face very thought- 
ful, his hands full of books or papers, and 
dropping into one of the comfortable, studious 
chairs, ask laconically for tea. This was her 
moment of triumph and recompense — for the 
very unconsciousness of his coming doubled 
its value. He would sit for half an hour with 
a preoccupied glance or with keen, alert eyes 
fixed on the fire, while his ideas sorted them- 
selves and fell into line. Sometimes he was 
silent for the whole half-hour, sometimes he 
commented to himself as he scanned his 
notes; but on other and rarer occasions he 
talked, speaking his thoughts and his theories 
aloud with the enjoyment of a man who 
knows himself fully in his depth, while Eve 
sipped her tea or stitched peacefully at a 
strip of embroidery. 

On these occasions she made a perfect 
listener. Here and there she encouraged him 
with an intelligent remark, but she never in- 
terrupted. She knew when to be silent and 
when to speak, when to merge her own indi- 


viduality and when to make it felt. In these 
days of stress and preparation he came to 
her unconsciously for rest; he treated her as 
he might have treated a younger brother — 
relying on her discretion, turning to her as 
by right for sympathy, comprehension, and 
friendship. Sometimes as they sat silent in 
the richly colored homelike room, Eve would 
pause over her embroidery and let her 
thoughts spin momentarily forward — spin to- 
ward the point where, the brunt of his ordeal 
passed, he must of necessity seek something 
beyond mere rest. But there her thoughts 
would inevitably break off and the blood 
flame quickly into her cheek. 

Meanwhile Loder worked persistently. 
With each day that brought the crisis of 
E raide’s scheme nearer his activity increased 
— and with it an intensifying of the nervous 
strain. For if he had his hours of exaltation, 
he also had his hours of black apprehension. 
It is all very well to exorcise a ghost by sheer 
strength of will, but one has also to eliminate 
the idea that gave it existence. Lillian As- 
trupp with her unattested evidence and her 
ephemeral interest gave him no real uneasi- 
ness ; but Chilcote and C.hilcote’s possible 
summons were matters of graver considera- 
tion; and there were times when they loomed 
very dark and sinister. What if at the very 
moment of fulfilment — ? But invariably he 
snapped the thread of the supposition and 
turned with fiercer ardor to his work of prep- 
aration. 

And so the last morning of his probation 
dawned, and for the first time he breathed 
freely. 

He rose early on the day that was to witness 
his great effort and dressed slowly. It was a 
splendid morning; the spirit of the spring 
seemed embodied in the air, in the pale blue 
sky, in the shafts of cool sunshine that 
danced from the mirror to the dressing-table, 
from the dressing-table to the pictures on the 
walls of Chilcote’s vast room. Inconsequent- 
ly with its dancing rose a memory of the dis- 
tant past — a memory of long-forgotten Easter 
Sundays when, as a child, he had been bidden 
to watch the same sun perform the same 
fantastic evolutions. The sight and the 
thought stirred him curiously with an unlook- 
ed-for sense of youth. He drew himself to- 
gether with an added touch of decision as he 
passed out into the corridor, and as he walk- 
ed down-stairs he whistled a bar or two of an 
inspiriting tune. 


760 


HARPERS BAZAR 


In the morning-room Eve was already wait- 
ing. She looked up, colored, and smiled as 
he entered. Her face looked very fresh and 
young and she wore a gown of the same pale 
blue that she had worn on his first coming — 
the pale blue that made so excellent a setting 
to her black hair. 

She looked up from an open letter as he 
came into the room, and the sun that fell 
through the window caught her in a shaft of 
light, intensifying her blue eyes, her blue 
gown, and the bunch of violets fastened in 
her belt. To Loder, still under the influence 
of early memories, she seemed the embodi- 
ment of some youthful ideal — she seemed to 
fit in some incomprehensible way with the 
dancing sun and the Easter mornings of his 
remembrance; to be something lost, sought 
for, and found again. Realization of his 
feeling for her almost came to him as he 
stood there looking at her. It hovered about 
him ; it tipped him, as it were, with its wings ; 
then it rose again and soared away. Men 
like him — men keen to grasp an opening 
where their careers are concerned, and tena- 
cious to hold it when once grasped — are fre- 
quently the last to look into their own hearts. 
He glanced at Eve, he acknowledged the stir 
of his feeling, but he made no attempt to de- 
fine its cause. He could no more have given 
reason for his sensation than he could have 
told the precise date upon which, coming 
down-stairs at eight o’clock, he had first 
found her waiting breakfast for him. The 
time when all such incidents were to stand 
out, each to a nicety in its appointed place, 
had not yet arrived. For the moment his 
youth had returned to him; he possessed the 
knowledge of work done, the sense of present 
companionship in a world of agreeable things ; 
above all, the steady, quiet conviction of his 
own capacity. All these things came to him 
in the moments of his entering the room, 
greeting Eve, and passing to the breakfast- 
table; then, while his eyes still rested con- 
tentedly on the pleasant array of china and 
silver, while his senses were still alive to the 
fresh, earthy scent of Eve’s violets, the blow 
so long dreaded, so slow in coming, fell with 
accumulated force. 

CHAPTER XXIV 

T HE letter through which the blow fell 
was not voluminous. It was written 
on cheap paper in a disguised hand, 
and the contents covered only half a page. 


Loder read it slowly, mentally articulating 
every word; then he laid it down, and as he 
did so he caught Eve’s eyes raised in concern. 
Again he read something of his own feelings 
reflected in her face, and the shock braced 
him; he picked up the letter, tearing it into 
strips. 

u I must go out,” he said, slowly. “ I must 
go now — at once.” His voice was hard. 

Eve’s surprised, concerned eyes still search- 
ed his. “ Now — at once?” she repeated. 
“ Xow — without breakfast?” 

“ I’m not hungry.” He rose from his seat, 
and carrying the slips of paper across the 
room, dropped them into the fire. He did it 
not so much from caution as from an impera- 
tive wish to do something, to move, if only 
across the room. 

Eve’s glance followed him. “ Is it bad 
news?” she asked, anxiously. It was unlike 
her to be insistent, but she was moved to 
the impulse by the peculiarity of the mo- 
ment. 

“ No,” he said, shortly. “ It’s — business. 
This was written yesterday; I should have 
got it last night.” 

Her eyes widened. “ But nobody does 
business at eight in the morning — ” she be- 
gan, in astonishment ; then she suddenly broke 
off. 

Without apology or farewell, Loder had 
left the fireplace and passed through the door 
into the hall. 

He passed through the hall hurriedly, pick- 
ing up a hat as he went. Reaching the pave- 
ment outside, he walked briskly till Gros- 
venor Square was left behind; then he ran. 
At the risk of reputation, at the loss of 
dignity, he ran till he saw a cab. Hailing 
it, he sprang inside, and as the cabman 
whipped up and the horse responded to the 
call he realized for the first time the full 
significance of what had occurred. 

Realization, like the need for action, came 
to him slowly, but when it came it was with 
terrible lucidity. He did not swear as he 
leant back in his seat, mechanically watching 
the stream of men on their way to business, 
the belated cars of green produce block- 
ing the way between the Strand and Covent 
Garden. He had no use for oaths; his feel- 
ings lay deeper than mere words. But his 
mouth was sternly set and his eyes looked 
unpleasantly cold. 

Outside the Law Courts he dismissed his 
cab, and walked forward to Clifford’s Inn. 


THE MASQUERADER 


761 



As he passed through the fa- 
miliar entrance a chill fell on 
him. In the clear, early light 
it seemed more than ever a 
place of dead hopes, dead en- 
terprises, dead ambitions. In 
the onward march of life it 
had been forgotten — pushed 
aside ; the very air had a 
breath of unfulfilment. 

He crossed the court rapid- 
ly, but his mouth set itself 
afresh as he passed through 
the doorway of his own house 
and crossed the bare hall. 

As he mounted the ' well- 
known stairs he received his 
first indication of life in the 
appearance of a cat from the 
second-floor rooms. At sight 
of him the animal came for- 
ward, rubbed demonstratively 
against his legs, and with af- 
fectionate persistence follow- 
ed him up-stairs. 

Outside his door he paused. 

On the ground stood the usual 
morning can of milk — evi- 
dence that Chilcote was not 
yet awake, or that, like him- 
self, he had no appetite for 
breakfast. He smiled ironic- 
ally as the idea struck him, 
but it was a smile that stiff- 
ened rather than relaxed his 
lips. Then he drew out the 
duplicate key he always car- 
ried, and inserting it quietly, 
opened the door. A close, unpleasant smell 
greeted him as he entered the small passage 
that divided the bed and sitting rooms — a 
smell of whiskey mingling with the odor of 
stale smoke. With a quick gesture he push- 
ed open the bedroom door ; then on the 
threshold he paused, a look of contempt and 
repulsion passing over his face. 

In his first glance he scarcely grasped the 
details of the room, for the half-drawn cur- 
tains kept the light dim, but as his eyes grew 
accustomed to the obscurity he gathered their 
significance. 

The room had a sleepless, jaded air — the 
room that under his occupation had shown a 
rigid, almost monastic severity. The plain 
dressing-table was littered with cigarette ends 
and marked with black and tawny patches 


DROPPED SIX TABLOIDS INTO THE GLASS. 

where the tobacco had been left to burn itself 
out. On one corner of the table a carafe of 
water and a whiskey-decanter rested one 
against the other as if for support, and at the 
other end an overturned tumbler lay in a pool 
of liquid. The whole effect was sickly and 
nauseating. His glance turned involuntarily 
to the bed, and there halted. 

On the hard, narrow mattress, from which 
the sheets and blankets had fallen in a dis- 
ordered heap, lay Chilcote. He was fully 
dressed in a shabby tweed suit of Loder’s; 
his collar was open, his lip and chin un- 
shaven; one hand was limply grasping the 
pillow, while the other hung out over the side 
of the bed. His face, pale, almost earthy in 
hue, might have been a mask, save for the 
slight convulsive spasms that crossed it from 


762 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


time to time, seeming to correspond with the 
faint, shivering starts that passed at intervals 
over his whole body. To complete his re- 
pellent appearance, a lock of hair had fallen 
loose and lay black and damp across his fore- 
head. 

Loder stood for a space shocked and spell- 
bound by the sight. Even in the ghastly dis- 
array, the likeness, the extraordinary, sinister 
likeness that had become the pivot upon 
which he himself revolved, struck him like a 
blow. The man who lay there was himself — 
bound to him by some subtle, inexplicable 
tie of similarity. As the idea touched him he 
turned aside and stepped quickly to the dress- 
ing-table; there, with an unnecessary energy, 
he flung back the curtains and threw the 
window wide; then he turned back towards 
the bed. He had one dominant impulse — to 
waken Chilcote, to be free of the repulsive 
inert presence that chilled him with so per- 
sonal a horror. Leaning over the bed, he 
caught the shoulder nearest to him and shook 
it. It was not the moment for niceties, and 
his gesture was rough. 

At his first touch Chilcote made no re- 
sponse — his brain, dulled by indulgence in 
his vice, had become a laggard in conveying 
sensations ; then at last, as the pressure on his 
shoulder increased, his nervous system seemed 
suddenly to jar into consciousness. A long 
shudder shook him; he half lifted himself 
and then dropped back upon the pillow. 

“ Oh !” he exclaimed, in a trembling breath. 
“ Oh !” The sound seemed drawn from him 
by compulsion. 

Its uncanny tone chilled Loder anew. 
“ Wake up, man !” he said, suddenly. “ Wake 
up! It’s I — Loder.” 

Again the other shuddered; then he turned 
quickly and nervously. “ Loder ?” he said, 
doubtfully. “ Loder ?” Then his face 
changed. “ Good God !” he exclaimed, “ what 
a relief!” 

The words were so intense, so spontaneous 
and unexpected, that Loder took a step back. 

Chilcote laughed discordantly, and lifted a 
shaky hand to protect his eyes from the 
light. 

“ It’s — it’s all right, Loder ! It’s all right ! 
It’s only that I— that I had a beastly dream. 
But for Heaven’s sake, man, shut that win- 
dow!” He shivered involuntarily and pushed 
the lock of damp hair from his forehead with 
a weak touch of his old irritability. 

In silence Loder moved back to the window 


and shut it. He was affected more than he 
would own even to himself by the obvious 
change in Chilcote. He had seen him moody, 
restless, nervously excited, but never before 
had he seen him entirely demoralized. With 
a dull feeling of impotence and disgust he 
stood by the closed window, looking unsee- 
ingly at the roofs of the opposite houses. 

But Chilcote had followed his movements 
restlessly; and now, as he watched him pause, 
a flicker of excitement crossed his face. 
u God ! Loder,” he said, again, “ ’twas a re- 
lief to see you! I dreamt I was in hell — a 
horrible hell, worse than the one they preach 
about.” He laughed to reassure himself, but 
his voice shook pitiably. 

Loder, who had come to fight, stood silent 
and inert. 

“ It was horrible — beastly,” Chilcote went 
on. “ There was no fire and brimstone, but 
there was something worse. It was a great 
ironic scheme of punishment by which every 
man was chained to his own vice — by which 
the thing he had gone to pieces over, instead 
of being denied him, was made compulsory. 
You can’t imagine it.” He shivered nerv- 
ously and his voice rose. “ Fancy being sati- 
ated beyond the limit of satiety, being driven 
and dogged by the thing you had run after 
all your life !” 

He paused excitedly, and in the pause 
Loder found resolution. He shut his ears to 
the panic in Chilcote’s voice, he closed his 
consciousness to the sight of his shaken face. 
With a surge of determination he rallied his 
theories. After all, he had himself and his 
own interests to claim his thought. At the 
moment Chilcote was a wreck, with no de- 
sire towards rehabilitation, but there was no 
guarantee that in an hour or two he might 
not have regained control over himself, and 
with it the inclination that had prompted his 
letter of the day before. Ho, he had himself 
to look to. The survival of the fittest was the 
true, the only principle. Chilcote had had in- 
tellect, education, opportunity, and deliber- 
ately cast them aside. Fortifying himself in 
the knowledge, he turned from the window 
and moved slowly back to the bed. 

“ Look here,” he began, “ you wrote for me 
last night — ” His voice was hard; he had 
come to fight. 

Chilcote glanced up quickly. His mouth 
was drawn and there was a new anxiety in 
his eyes. “ Loder !” he exclaimed, quickly. 
“ Loder, come here ! Come nearer !” 


TEE MASQUERADER 


763 


Reluctantly Loder obeyed. Stepping closer 
to the side of the bed, he bent down. 

The other put up his hand and caught his 
arm. His fingers trembled and jerked. “ I 
say, Loder,” he said, suddenly, “ I — I’ve had 
such a beastly night — my nerves — you 
know — ” 

With a quick, involuntary disgust Loder 
drew back. “ Don’t you think we might shove 
that aside?” he asked. 

But Chilcote’s gaze had wandered from his 
face and strayed to the dressing-table; there 
it moved feverishly from one object to an- 
other. 

“ Loder,” he exclaimed, “ do you see — can 
you see if there’s a tube of tabloids on the 
mantel-shelf — or on the dressing-table?” He 
lifted himself nervously on his elbow and his 
eyes wandered uneasily about the room. “T — 
I had a beastly night ; my nerves are horribly 
jarred; and I thought — I think — ” He 
stopped. 

With his increasing consciousness his 
nervous collapse became more marked. At 
the first moment of waking the relief of an 
unexpected presence had surmounted every- 
thing else; but now, as one by one his facul- 
ties stirred, his wretched condition became 
patent. With a new sense of perturbation 
Loder made his next attack. 

“ Chilcote — ” he began, sternly. 

But again Chilcote caught his arm, pluck- 
ing at the coat sleeve. “ Where is it ?” he 
said. “ Where is the tube of tabloids — the 
sedative ? I’m — I’m obliged to take something 
when my nerves go wrong — ” In his weak- 
ness and nervous tremor he forgot that Loder 
was the sharer of his secret. Even in his ex- 
tremity his fear of detection clung to him 
limply — the lies that had become second na- 
ture slipped from him without effort. Then 
suddenly a fresh panic seized him; his fingers 
tightened spasmodically, his eyes ceased to 
rove about the room and settled on his com- 
panion’s face. “ Can you see it, Loder?” he 
cried. “ I can’t — the light’s in my eyes. 
Can you see it? Can you see the tube?” 
He lifted himself higher, an agony of appre- 
hension in his face. 

Loder pushed him back upon the pillow. 
He was striving hard to keep his own mind 
cool, to steer his own course straight through 
the chaos that confronted him. “ Chilcote,” 
he began once more, “ you sent for me last 
night, and I came the first thing this morning 
to tell you — ” But there he stopped. 


With an excitement that lent him strength 
Chilcote pushed aside his hands. “ God !” he 
said, suddenly, “ suppose ’twas lost — suppose 
’twas gone !” The imaginary possibility 
gripped him. He sat up, his face livid, drops 
of perspiration showing on his forehead, his 
whole shattered system trembling. 

At the sight Loder set his lips. “ The tube 
is on the mantel-shelf,” he said, in a cold, 
abrupt voice. 

A groan of relief fell from Chilcote and 
the muscles of his face relaxed. For a mo- 
ment he lay back with closed eyes; then the 
desire that tortured him stirred afresh. He 
lifted his eyelids and looked at his com- 
panion. “Hand it to me,” he said, quickly. 
“ Give it to me. Give it to me, Loder. Quick 
as you can! There’s a glass on the table and 
some whiskey and water. The tabloids dis- 
solve, you know — ” In his new excitement 
he held out his hand. 

But Loder stayed motionless. He had come 
to fight, to demand, to plead, if need be, 
for the one hour for which he had lived, the 
hour that was to satisfy all labor, all en- 
deavor, all ambition. With dogged persist- 
ence he made one more essay. 

“ Chilcote, you wrote last night to recall 
me — ” Once again he paused, checked by a 
new interruption. Sitting up again, Chil- 
cote struck out suddenly with his left hand 
in a rush of his old irritability. 

“ Damn it, Loder,” he cried, suddenly, 
“ what are you talking about ? Look at me ! 
Get me the stuff. I tell you it’s imperative.” 
In his excitement his breath failed and he 
coughed. At the effort his whole frame was 
shaken. 

Loder walked to the dressing-table, then 
back to the bed. A deep agitation was at 
work in his mind. 

Again Chilcote’s lips parted. “Loder,” he 
said, faintly but excitedly — “ Loder, I mhst — 
I must have it. It’s imperative.” Once more 
he attempted to lift himself, but the effort 
was futile. 

Again Loder turned away. 

“Loder — for God’s sake — ” 

With a fierce gesture the other turned on 
him. “ Good heavens ! man — ” he began. 
Then unaccountably his voice changed. The 
suggestion that had been hovering in his 
mind took sudden and definite shape. “All 
right!” he said, in a lower voice. “ All right! 
Stay as you are.” 

He crossed to where the empty tumbler 


764 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


stood and hastily mixed the whiskey and 
water ; then crossing to the mantelpiece where 
lay the small glass tube containing the tightly 
packed tabloids, he paused and glanced once 
more towards the bed. “ How many ?” he 
said, laconically. 

Chilcote lifted his head. His face was 
pitiably drawn, but the feverish brightness 
in his eyes had increased. “ Six,” he said, 
sharply. “ Six. Do you hear, Loder, six.” 

“ Six ?” Involuntarily Loder lowered the 
hand that held the tube. From previous con- 
fidences of Chilcote’s he knew that each tab- 
loid contained one grain of morphia, and real- 
ized that six tabloids, if not an absolutely 
dangerous, was at least an excessive dose, even 
for a habitual opium-eater. For a moment 
his resolution failed; then the dominant note 
of his nature — the unconscious, fundamental 
egotism on which his character was based, 


asserted itself beyond denial. It might be rep- 
rehensible, it might even be criminal to 
accede to such a request, made by a man in 
such a condition of body and mind; yet the 
laws of the universe demanded self-assertion 
— prompted every human mind to desire, to 
grasp, and to hold. With a perception swifter 
than any he had experienced, he realized the 
certain respite to be gained by yielding to 
his impulse. He looked at Chilcote with his 
haggard, anxious expression, his eager, rest- 
less eyes, and a vision of himself followed 
sharp upon his glance. A vision of the un- 
tiring labor of the past ten days, of the slowly 
kindling ambition, of the supremacy all but 
gained. Then, as the picture completed it- 
self, he lifted his hand with an abrupt move- 
ment and dropped the six tabloids one after 
another into the glass. 

[to be continued.] 



TO-MORROW 

BY MINNIE FERRIS HAUENSTEIN 

To-morrow is Hope’s storehouse — heaped alway, 
To-morrow is the realm of promised things, 

A harbor for the little boats, whose wings 
Lie listless in the dead calm of to-day. 

To-morrow holds the balm for those who pray 
For patience over wounds that bleed and ache ; 
To-morrow is Fulfilment! for whose sake 
We heed not darkness — -nor a lonely way. 

To-morrow is Love’s Mercury, aflight 
With prophecy, a load-star for to-day 
Beck’ning to quarries, where are stored away 
The hidden glories of both Faith and Might. 

Oh! Hope — dear, cherished daughter of the Soul — 
To-morrow is thy Castle — and our goal! 


THE STOLEN BOTTICELLI 


875 


and again reading a few lines aloud to his 
companion, who seemed more interested in 
the view than the news. 

“ Connie, look here,” he said, handing her 
the paper and pointing to the list of arrivals. 

She read, “ M. le Comte et Ime. la Com- 
tesse Cino Gherardi.” 

“ I know it,” she answered, quietly. “ I met 
them this morning.” 

“ Would you like us to leave Monaco ? Will 
it be unpleasant for you ?” asked her husband. 

She turned and put her hands on his shoul- 
ders and looked at him full with her honest, 
loyal eyes. 

“ I would never have married you had I not 
been sure that man was as indifferent to me 
as the gravel on which we are walking. When 
I came to you that awful night and you found 


a home for me, and helped me to see what it 
was right I should do, then, at that time, I 
said to myself I hated him, but that hate was 
too near being love. I could not have married 
you then, but now I neither love nor hate him. 
He and mamita are merely people I once 
knew and who have gone out of my life — only 
she was kind to me, and that I cannot forget.” 

“ Nor can I, and that is why I, after all, left 
her unmolested to go on selling new pictures 
for old. . . . But what about me?” he asked, 
with a smile that proved he had no fear of 
the answer. “ I know you are very grateful, 
but — ” 

“ Once I was so grateful,” she said, “ that 
1 forgot to ask myself whether I loved you. 
Now I love you so that I have forgotten all 
about being grateful.” 



876 


HARPERS BAZAR 



XXV 

AVIXG taken a definite step 
in any direction, it was not 
in Loder’s nature to wish it 
retraced. His face was set, 
but set with determination, as, 
closing the outer door of his 
own rooms, he passed quietly down the stairs 
and out into the silent court. The thoughts 
of Chilcote, his pitiable condition, his sordid 
environments, were things that required a 
firm will to drive into the background of the 
imagination ; but a whole inferno of such 
visions would not have daunted Loder on that 
morning as, unobserved by any eyes, he left 
the little courtyard, the grass, the trees, the 
pavement, all so distastefully familiar, and 
passed down the Strand towards life and 
action. 

As he walked on, his steps increased in 
speed and vigor. Now for the first time he 
fully appreciated the great mental strain that 
he had undergone in the past ten days, the 
unnatural tension, the suppressed but per- 
petual sense of impending recall, and the con- 
sequently high pressure at which work and 
even existence had been carried on. And as 
he hurried forward the natural reaction to 
this state of things came upon him in a flood 
of security and confidence — a strong realiza- 
tion of the temporary respite and freedom for 
which no price would have seemed too high. 
The moment for which he had unconsciously 
lived ever since Chilcote’s first memorable 
proposition was within reach at last — safe- 
guarded by his own action. 

The walk from Clifford’s Inn to Grosvenor 
Square was long enough to dispel any excite- 

Begun in Harper’s Bazar No.i., Vol. XXXVIII. 


ment that his interview had aroused ; and 
long before the well-known house came into 
view he felt sufficiently braced mentally and 
physically to seek Eve in the morning-room — 
where he instinctively felt she would still be 
waiting for him. 

So he encountered and overpassed the ob- 
stacle that had so nearly threatened ruin; 
and with the singleness of purpose that al- 
ways distinguished him he was able, once hav- 
ing passed it, to dismiss it from his mind. 
From the moment of his return to Chilcote’s 
house no misgiving as to his own action, no 
shadow of doubt or pity, rose to trouble his 
mind. His feelings on the matter were quite 
simple. He had inordinately desired a cer- 
tain opportunity; one factor had arisen to 
debar that opportunity; and he, claiming the 
right of strength, had set the barrier aside. 
In the simplicity of the reasoning lay its 
power to convince; and were a tonic needed 
to brace him for his task, he was provided 
with one in the masterful sense of a difficulty 
set at naught. For the man who has fought 
and conquered one obstacle feels strong to 
vanquish a score. 

It was on this day at the reassembling of 
Parliament that Fraide’s great blow was to 
be struck. In the ten days since the affair of 
the caravans had been reported from Persia 
public feeling had run high, and it was upon 
the pivot of this incident that Loder’s attack 
was to turn ; for, as Lakeley was fond of re- 
marking, “ In the scales of public opinion one 
dead Englishman has more weight than the 
whole Eastern Question !” Up to the time of 
Loder’s return to Grosvenor Square the hour 
of action had been arranged for early after- 
noon, with a view to having the debate con- 



THE MASQUERADER 


877 


eluded before the dinner interval; and it was 
with this idea that he retired to the study 
immediately he had breakfasted, and settled 
to a final revision of his speech before a 
party conference at twelve should compel him 
to leave the house. But here again circum- 
stances were destined to change his pro- 
gramme. Scarcely had he sorted his notes 
and drawn his chair to Chilcote’s desk than 
Renwick entered the room with the same air 
of important haste that he had shown on a 
previous occasion. 

“A letter from Mr. Fraide, sir. But 
there’s no answer,” he said. 

Loder waited till he had left the room, 
then he tore the letter open. He read: 

“ My dear Chilcote, — Lakeley is the le- 
cipient of special and very vital news from 
Meshed — unofficial, but none the less alarm- 
ing. Acts of Russian aggression towards 
British traders reported rapidly increasing; 
authority of the Consulate treated with con- 
tempt. Pending a possible confirmation of 
this, I think it prudent to postpone our at- 
tack to this evening. By doing so we may 
find our hands materially strengthened. I 
shall put my opinions before you more ex- 
plicitly when we meet at twelve. 

Yours faithfully, 

Herbert Fraide.” 

The letter, worded with Fraide’s usual re- 
straint, made a strong impression on its re- 
cipient. The thought that his speech might 
not only express opinions already tacitly 
held, but voice a situation of intense and na- 
tional importance, struck him with full 
force. For many minutes after he had grasp- 
ed the meaning of Fraide’s message he sat 
neglectful of his notes, his elbows resting on 
the desk, his face between his hands, stirred 
by the suggestion that here might lie a 
greater opportunity than any he had antici- 
pated. 

Still moved by this new suggestion, he at- 
tended the party conclave that Fraide had 
convened, and afterwards lunched with and 
accompanied his leader to the House. They 
spoke very little as they drove to Westmin- 
ster, for each was engrossed by his own 
thoughts. Only once during the drive did 
Fraide allude to the incident that was para- 
mount in both their minds. Turning to 
Loder with a smile of encouragement, he 
laid his fingers for an instant on his 


“ Chilcote,” he said, “ when the time comes, 
remember you have all my confidence.” 

Looking back upon that day, Loder often 
wondered at the calmness with which he bore 
the momentous delaying of his attack. To 
sit apparently unmoved, and wait without an 
emotion for the news that might change the 
whole tenor of one’s action, would have tried 
the stoicism of the most experienced; to the 
novice it was well-nigh unendurable. It was 
under these conditions and fighting against 
these odds that he sat through the long after- 
noon in Chilcote’s place, obeying the dictates 
of his chief. But if the day was fraught 
with difficulties for him, it was fraught with 
dulness and disappointment for others; for 
the undercurrent of interest that had stirred 
at the Easter Adjournment and risen with 
added force on this first day of the new 
Session was gradually but surely threatened 
with extinction, as hour after hour passed, 
bringing no suggestion of the battle that had 
on every side been tacitly expected. Slowly 
and unmistakably speculation and dissatis- 
faction crept into the atmosphere of the 
House as moment succeeded moment and 
still the Opposition made no sign. Was 
Fraide shirking the attack? Or was he play- 
ing a waiting game? Again and again the 
question arose, filling the air with a passing 
flicker of interest; but each time it sprang 
up only to die down again, as the ordinary 
business of the day dragged itself out. 

Gradually, as the afternoon wore on, day- 
light began to fade. Loder, sitting rigidly in 
Chilcote’s place, watched with suppressed in- 
quiry the faces of the men who entered, 
through the constantly swinging doors; but 
not one face so eagerly scanned carried the 
message for which he waited. Monotonously 
and mechanically the time passed. The Gov- 
ernment, adopting a neutral attitude, care- 
fully skirted all dangerous subjects; while 
the Opposition, acting under Fraide’s sug- 
gestion, assisted rather than hindered the pro- 
gramme of postponement. For the moment 
the eagerly anticipated Reassembling threat- 
ened dismal failure, and it was with a uni- 
versal movement of weariness and relief that 
at last the House rose to dine. 

But there are no possibilities so elastic as 
those of politics. At half past seven the 
House rose in a spirit of boredom and disap- 
pointment; and at eight o’clock the lobbies, 
the dining-room, the entire space of the vast 
building, was stirred into activity by the 


878 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


arrival of a single telegraphic message. The 
new developments for which Fraide had 
waited came indeed, but with a force he had 
little anticipated. For it was with a thrill 
of awe and consternation that each man 
heard and repeated to his neighbor the news 
that, while personally exercising his au- 
thority on behalf of British traders. Sir 
William Brice -Field, Consul-General at 
Meshed, had been fired at by a Kussian officer 
and instantly killed. 

The interval immediately following the 
receipt of the news was too confused for de- 
tailed remembrance. One feeling made itself 
slowly felt — a deep horror that such an event 
could obtrude itself upon our high civiliza- 
tion, a strong personal dismay that so hon- 
ored, distinguished, and esteemed a represen- 
tative as Sir William Brice-Field could have 
been allowed to meet death in so terrible a 
manner. 

In the consciousness of this feeling — the 
consciousness that in his own person he 
might voice not only the feelings of his party, 
but those of the whole country, Loder rose an 
hour later to make his long-delayed attack. 

He stood silent for a moment, as he had 
done on the earlier occasion; but this time 
his motive was different. Boused beyond any 
feeling of self-consciousness, he waited as by 
right for the full attention of the House ; then 
looking directly towards the Ministerial 
benches, he quietly but firmly demanded 
from the Government an official contradic- 
tion or confirmation of the news reported 
from Persia. 

The question and its manner caused an 
audible stir. It was the signal for which 
the House had waited. Immediately after his 
demand there was a pause; then with a dis- 
tinct uncertainty of manner the Under Sec- 
retary for Foreign Affairs rose and replied 
that it was impossible for the Government at 
the moment to give an answer calculated to 
satisfy the House. 

Instantly he had resumed his seat, Loder 
rose again, and with telling effect begged 
leave to move the adjournment of the House 
in order that this matter of urgent public im- 
port might be discussed. Like a match to a 
train of powder, the words set flame to the 
excitement that had smouldered for weeks. 
Scarcely had he made his petition than, in a 
surge of enthusiasm, the members of his 
party rose simultaneously to his support. And 
it was in this atmosphere of activity, amid 


this stirring scene of tense concentration, 
that he found inspiration for his great 
achievement. 

To give Loder’s speech in mere words 
would be little short of futile. The gift of 
oratory is too illusive — too much a matter of 
eye and voice and individuality — to allow of 
cold reproduction. To those who heard him 
speak on that night of April the 18th the 
speech will require no recalling, and to those 
who did not hear him there would be no sub- 
stitute in bare reproduction. 

In the moment of speech it mattered noth- 
ing to him that his previous preparations 
were to a great extent rendered useless by 
this news that had come with such paralyzing 
effect. In the sweeping consciousness of his 
own ability he found added joy in the free- 
dom it opened up. He ceased to consider that 
by fate he was a Conservative, bound by tra- 
ditional conventionalities; in that great mo- 
ment he knew himself sufficiently a man to 
exercise whatever individuality instinct 
prompted. He forgot the didactic methods 
by which he had proposed to show knowledge 
of his subject — both as a past and as a future 
factor in European politics; with his own 
strong appreciation of present things, he saw 
and grasped the Vast present interest lying 
beneath his hand. 

For fifty minutes he held the interest of 
the House, speaking insistently, fearlessly, 
commandinglv on the immediate need of ac- 
tion. He unhesitatingly pointed out that the 
news which had just reached England was 
not so much an appalling fact as a sinister 
warning to those in whose keeping lay the 
safety of the country’s interests. Lastly, with 
a fine touch of eloquence, he paid tribute to 
the steadfast fidelity of such men as Sir 
William Brice-Field, who, whatever political 
complications arise at home, pursue their 
duty unswervingly on the outposts of the 
Empire. 

At his last words there was silence — the 
silence that marks a genuine effect; then all 
at once with vehement, impressive force, the 
storm of enthusiasm broke its bounds. 

It was one of those stupendous bursts of feel- 
ing that no etiquette, no decorum, is power- 
ful enough to quell. As Loder resumed his 
seat, very pale, but exalted as men are ex- 
alted only once or twice in a lifetime, it rose 
about him, clamorous, spontaneous, undeni- 
able. Near at hand were the faces of his 
party, excited and triumphant ; across the 


THE MASQUERADER 


879 


House were the faces of Sef borough and his 
Ministers, uncomfortable and disturbed. 

The tumult swelled, then fell away; and in 
the partial lull that followed, Fraide leant 
across to where Loder sat. His quiet, digni- 
fied expression was unaltered, but his eyes 
were intensely bright. 

“ Chilcote,” he whispered, “ I don’t con- 
gratulate you — or myself. I congratulate 
the country on possessing a great man!” 

The remaining features of the debate fol- 
lowed quickly one upon the other; the electric 
atmosphere of the House possessed a strong 
incentive power. Immediately Loder’s ova- 
tion had subsided, the Under Secretary for 
Foreign Affairs rose again and in a careful 
and non-incriminating reply defended the 
attitude of the Government. 

Next came Fraide, who, in one of his rare 
and polished speeches, touched with much 
feeling upon his personal grief at the news 
reported from Persia, and made emphatic 
endorsement of Loder’s words. 

Following Fraide came one or two dis- 
sentient Liberals, and then Sef borough him- 
self closed the debate. His speech was mas- 
terly and fluent; but though any disquietude 
he may have felt was well disguised under a 
tone of reassuring ease, the attempt to re- 
habilitate his position, already weakened in 
more than one direction, was a task beyond 
his strength. 

Amid excitement such as the House has 
rarely seen the division followed — and with 
it a Government defeat. 

It was not until half an hour after the 
votes had been taken that Loder, freed at 
last from persistent congratulations, found 
opportunity to look for Eve. In accordance 
with a promise made that morning, he was 
to find her waiting outside the Ladies’ Gal- 
lery at the close of the debate. 

Disengaging himself from the group of 
men who had surrounded and followed him 
down the lobby, he discarded the lift and 
ran up the narrow staircase. Peaching the 
gallery landing, he went forward hurriedly; 
then with a certain abrupt movement he 
paused. In the doorway Eve was wait- 
ing for him. The place was not brightly 
lighted and she was standing in the shadow, 
but it needed only a glance to assure his 
recognition. He could almost have seen in 
the dark that night, so vivid were his per- 
ceptions. He took a step towards her, then 


again he stopped ; with his second glance he 
realized that her eyes were bright with tears. 
With the strangest sensation he had ever ex- 
perienced the knowledge flashed upon him. 
Here also he had struck the same note — the 
long-coveted note of supremacy. It had rung 
out full as he stood in Chilcote’s place domi- 
nating the House; it had besieged him clam- 
orously as he passed along the lobbies amid 
a sea of friendly hands and voices; now in 
the quiet of the deserted gallery it came home 
to him with deeper meaning from the eyes 
of Chilcote’s wife. 

Without a thought he put out his hands 
and caught hers. “ I couldn’t get away,” he 
said. “ I’m afraid I’m very late.” 

With a smile that scattered her tears, Eve 
looked up. u Are you ?” she said, laughing a 
little. “ I don’t know what the time is. I 
scarcely know whether it’s night or day.” 

Then still holding one of her hands, he 
drew her down the stairs. As they reached 
the last step she released her fingers. 

“ In the carriage !” she said, with another 
little laugh of nervous happiness. 

At the foot of the stairs Loder was again 
besieged. Men whose faces he barely knew 
crowded about him. The intoxication of ex- 
citement was still in the air; the instinct 
that a new force had made itself felt, a new 
epoch been entered upon, stirred prophetic- 
ally in every mind. Later, when passing 
through the enthusiastic concourse of men, 
they came unexpectedly upon Fraide and 
Lady Sarah surrounded by a group of friends ; 
the old statesman came forward instantly, 
and taking Loder’s arm in a conspicuous man- 
ner, walked with him to the brougham. 

He said little as they slowly made their 
way to the carriage, but the pressure of his 
fingers was tense and an unwonted color 
showed in his face. When Eve and Loder 
had taken their seats he stepped to the edge 
of the curb. They were alone for the mo- 
ment as, leaning close to the carriage, he 
put his hand through the open window. In 
silence he took Eve’s fingers and held them 
in a long, affectionate pressure; then he re- 
leased them and took Loder’s hand. 

“ Good night, Chilcorte !” he said. “ You 
have proved yourself worthy of her! Good 
night!” He turned quickly and rejoined his 
waiting friends. In another second the 
horses had wheeled round and Eve and Loder 
were carried swiftly forward into the dark- 
ness. 


880 


HARPERS BAZAR 


In the great moments of man’s life woman 
comes before — and after. Some shadow of 
this truth was in Eve’s mind as she lay back 
in the corner of her seat with closed eyes and 
parted lips. It seemed that life came to her 
now for the first time — came in the glad, 
proud, satisfying tide of things accomplished. 
This was her hour, and the recognition of it 
brought the blood to her face in a sudden 
happy rush. There had been no need to pre- 
cipitate its coming — it had been ordained 
from the first. Whether she desired it or 
no, whether she strove to draw it nearer or 
strove to ward it off, its coming had been in- 
evitable. She opened her eyes suddenly and 
looked out into the darkness — the darkness 
throbbing with multitudes of lives, all await- 
ing, all desiring fulfilment. She was no 
longer lonely, no longer aloof; she was kin 
with all that pitiful, admirable, sinning, lov- 
ing humanity. Again tears of pride and 
happiness filled her eyes; then, in one mo- 
ment, the thing she had waited for came to 
pass. 

Loder leant close to her. She was con- 
scious of his nearer presence, of his strong, 
masterful personality; she felt his arm about 
her shoulder. Then, with a thrill that caught 
her breath, she heard his voice. 

“ Eve,” he said, “ I love you. Do you 
understand? I love you.” And drawing her 
close to him, he bent and kissed her. 

With Loder, to do was to do fully. When 
he gave he gave generously; when he swept 
aside a barrier he left no stone standing. He 
had been slow to recognize his capacities, 
slower still to recognize his feelings. But 
now that the knowledge came, he received it 
openly. In this matter of newly compre- 
hended love he gave no thought to either past 
or future. That they loved and were alone 
was all he knew or questioned. She was as 
much Eve — the one woman — as though they 
were together in the primeval garden; and 
in this spirit he claimed her. 

He neither spoke nor behaved extrava- 
gantly in that great moment of comprehen- 
sion. He acted quietly, with the completeness 
of purpose that he gave to everything. He 
had found a new capacity within himself* 
and he was strong enough to dread no weak- 
ness in displaying it. 

Holding her close to him, he repeated his 
declaration again and again, as though repeti- 
tion ratified it. He found no need to question 
her feeling for him — he had divined it in a 


flash of inspiration as she stood waiting in 
the doorway of the gallery; but his own sur- 
render was a different matter. 

As the carriage passed round the corner of 
Whitehall and dipped into the traffic of 
Piccadilly he bent down again till her soft 
hair brushed his face; and the warm, per- 
sonal contact, the slight, fresh smell of violets 
so suggestive of her presence, stirred him 
afresh. 

“ Eve,” he said, vehemently, “ do you 
understand? Do you know that I have loved 
you always — from the very first ?” As he 
said it, he bent still nearer, kissing her lips, 
her forehead, her hair. At the same mo- 
ment the horses slackened speed, then stopped 
altogether, arrested by one of the temporary 
blocks that so often occur in the traffic of 
Piccadilly Circus. 

Loder, preoccupied with his own feelings, 
scarcely noticed the halt, but Eve drew away 
from him, laughing. 

“You mustn’t!” she said, softly. “Look!” 

The carriage had stopped beside one of the 
small islands that intersect the place; a 
group of pedestrians were crowded upon it, 
under the light of the electric lamp; way- 
farers who, like themselves, were awaiting a 
passage. Loder took a cursory glance at 
them, then turned back to Eve. 

“ What are they, after all, but men and 
women ?” he said. “ They’d understand — 
every one of them.” He laughed in his turn; 
nevertheless he withdrew his arm. Her femi- 
nine thought for the conventionalities ap- 
pealed to him. It was an acknowledgment of 
dependency. 

Eor a while they sat silent, the light of the 
street lamp flickering through the glass of 
the window, the hum of voices and traffic 
coming to them in a continuous rise and fall 
of sound. At first the position was interest- 
ing, then as the seconds followed each other 
it gradually became irksome. Loder, watch- 
ing the varying expressions of Eve’s face, 
grew impatient of the delay — suddenly eager 
to be alone again in the fragrant darkness. 

Impelled by the desire, he leant forward 
and opened the window. “ What’s the mean- 
ing of this ?” he said. “ Is there nobody to 
regulate the traffic?” As he spoke he half 
rose and leant out of the window. There was 
a touch of imperious annoyance in his man- 
ner. Fresh from the realization of power, 
there was something irksome in this common- 
place check to his desires. “Isn’t it possible 


TEE MASQUERADER 


881 



to get out of this ?” 

Eve heard him call to 
the coachman. Then 
she heard no more. 

He had leant out of 
the carriage with the 
intention of looking 
onward towards the 
cause of the delay ; 
but instead, by that 
magnetic attraction 
that does undoubtedly 
exist, he looked di- 
rectly in front of him 
at the group of people 
waiting on the little 
island — at one man 
who leant against the 
lamp-post in an atti- 
tude of apathy — a 
man with a pallid, un- 
shaven face and lus- 
treless eyes, who wore 
a cap drawn low over 
his forehead. 

He looked at this 
man, and the man 
saw and returned his 
glance. For a space 
that seemed inter- 
minable they held each 
other’s eyes; then very 
slowly Loder drew 
back into the car- 
riage. 

He dropped into his 
seat and instantly Eve 
turned to him. As 
she looked at him the 
light and excitement 
died out of her eyes. 

“ J ohn,” she said, 
quickly, “ something 
has happened!” 

He looked at her 

and tried to smile. “ Nothing!” he said. 
“ Nothing! A sudden dizziness. Nothing to 
worry about.” He spoke quickly, but his voice 
had suddenly become flat; all the command, 
all the domination had dropped away from it. 

Eve bent close to him in sharp anxiety. 
“ It was the excitement,” she said. 

He looked at her, but he made no at- 
tempt to press the fingers that clasped his 
own. “ Yes,” he said, “ it was the excite- 
ment of to-night — and the reaction.” 

VOL. xxxvtii. — 56 


l)KD£i\W0D£ 


HOLDING ONE OF HER HANDS HE DREW HER DOWN THE STAIRS. 


CHAPTER XXVI 

T HE next morning at eight o’clock, and 
again without breakfast, Loder covered 
the distance between Grosvenor Square 
and Clifford’s Inn. He left Chilcote’s house 
hastily — with a haste that only an urgent 
motive could have driven him to adopt. His 
steps were quick and uneven as he traversed 
the intervening streets; his shoulders lacked 
their decisive pose, and his pale face was 
marked with shadows beneath the eyes — 


882 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


shadows that bore witness to the sleepless 
night spent in pacing Chilcote’s vast and 
lonely room. By the curious effect of cir- 
cumstances the likeness between the two men 
had never been more significantly marked 
than on that morning of April the 19th, 
when Loder walked along the pavements 
crowded with early workers and brisk with 
insistent news-venders already alive to the 
value of last night’s political crisis. 

The irony of this last element in the day’s 
concerns came to him fully when one news- 
boy, more energetic than his fellows, thrust 
a paper in front of him. 

“ Sensation in the ’Ouse, sir ! Government 
defeat !” 

For a moment Loder stopped and his face 
reddened. The tide of emotions still ran 
strong. His hand went instinctively to his 
pocket; then his lips set. He shook his head 
and walked on. 

With the same hard expression about his 
mouth he turned into Clifford’s Inn, passed 
through his own doorway, and mounted the 
stairs. 

This time there was no milk-can on the 
threshold of his rooms and the door yielded 
to his pressure without the need of a key. 
With a strange sensation of reluctance he 
walked into the narrow passage and paused, 
uncertain which room to enter first. As he 
stood hesitating, a voice from the sitting- 
room settled the question. 

“ Who’s there ?” it called, irritably. “ What 
do you want?” 

Without further ceremony Loder pushed 
the door open and entered the room. As he 
did so he drew a quick breath — whether of 
disappointment or relief it was impossible to 
say'. Whether he had hoped for or dreaded 
it, Chilcote was conscious. 

As he entered, he was sitting by the 
cheerless grate, the ashes of yesterday’s fire 
showing charred and dreary where the sun 
touched them. His hack was to the light, and 
about his shoulders was an old plaid rug of 
Loder’s. Behind him on the table stood a 
cup, a teapot, and the can of milk; farther 
off a kettle was set to boil upon a tiny spirit- 
stove. 

In all strong situations we are more or less 
commonplace. Loder’s first remark as he 
glanced round the disordered room seemed 
strangely inefficient. 

“ Where’s Robins ?” he asked, in a brusque 
voice. His mind teemed with big considera- 


tions, yet this was his first involuntary ques- 
tion. 

Chilcote had started at the entrance of his 
visitor; now he sat staring at him, his hands 
holding the arms of his chair. 

“ Where’s Robins ?” Loder asked again. 

“ I don’t know. She — I — We didn’t hit 
it off. She’s gone — went yesterday.” He 
shivered and drew the rug about him. 

u Chilcote — ” Loder began, sternly ; then he 
paused. There was something in the other’s 
look and attitude that arrested him. A 
change of expression passed over his face; he 
turned about with an abrupt gesture, pulled 
off his coat and threw it^ on a chair, then 
crossing deliberately to the fireplace, began 
to rake the ashes from the grate. 

Within a few minutes he had a fire crack- 
ling where the bed of dead cinders had been, 
and having finished the task, he rose slowly 
from his knees, wiped his hands, and crossed 
to the table. On the small spirit-stove the 
kettle had boiled and the cover was lifting 
and falling with a tinkling sound. Blowing 
out the flame, Loder picked up the teapot, 
and with hands that were evidently accus- 
tomed to the task set about making the tea. 

During the whole operation he never spoke, 
though all the while he was fully conscious 
of Chilcote’s puzzled gaze. The tea ready, 
he poured it into the cup and carried it 
across the room. 

“ Drink this !” he said, laconically. “ The 
fire will be up presently.” 

Chilcote extended a cold and shaky hand. 
“ You see — ” he began. 

But Loder checked him almost savagely. 
“ I do — as well as though I had followed you 
from Piccadilly last night! You’ve been 
hanging about, God knows where, till the 
small hours of the morning; then you’ve 
come back — slunk back, starving for your 
damned poison and shivering with cold. 
You’ve settled the first part of the business, 
but the cold has still to be reckoned with. 
Drink the tea. I’ve something to say to you.” 
Lie mastered his vehemence, and walking to 
the window, stood looking down into the 
court. His eyes were blank, his face hard; 
his ears heard nothing but the faint sound of 
Chilcote’s swallowing, the click of the cup 
against his teeth. 

For a time that seemed interminable he 
stood motionless; then, when he judged the 
tea finished, he turned slowly. Chilcote had 
drawn closer to the fire. He was obviously 


TEE MASQUERADER 


883 


braced by the warmth, and the apathy that 
hung about him was to some extent dispelled. 
Still moving slowly, Loder went towards him, 
and relieving him of the empty cup, stood 
looking down at him. 

“ Chilcote,” he said, very quietly, “ I’ve 
come to tell you that the thing must end.” 

After he spoke there was a prolonged pause ; 
then as if shaken with sudden consciousness, 
Chilcote rose. The rug dropped from one 
shoulder and hung down ludicrously ; his hand 
caught the back of the chair for support; his 
unshaven face looked absurd and repulsive 
in its sudden expression of scared inquiry. 
Loder involuntarily turned away. 

“ I mean it,” he said, slowly. “ It’s over; 
we’ve come to the end.”. 

“But why?” Chilcote articulated, blankly. 
“ Why ? Why ?” In his confusion he could 
think of no better word. 

“ Because I throw it up. My side of the 
bargain’s off!” 

Again Chilcote’s lips parted stammeringly. 
The apathy caused by physical exhaustion 
and his recently administered drug was pass- 
ing from him; the hopelessly shattered condi- 
tion of mind and body was showing through 
it like a gaunt skeleton through a thin cover- 
ing of flesh. 

“But why?” he said again. “Why?” 

Still Loder avoided the frightened sur- 
prise of his eyes. “ Because I withdraw,” he 
answered, doggedly. 

Then suddenly Chilcote’s tongue was 
loosened. “Loder,” he cried, excitedly, “you 
can’t do it! God! man, you can’t do it!” 
Then, to reassure himself, he laughed — a 
painfully thin echo of his old sarcastic laugh. 
“If it’s a matter of greater opportunity — ” 
he began, “ of more money — ” 

But Loder turned upon him. 

“ Be quiet !” he said, so menacingly that 
the other stopped. Then by an effort he 
conquered himself. “It’s not a matter of 
money, Chilcote,” he said, quietly; “it’s a 
matter of necessity.” He brought the word 
out with difficulty. 

Chilcote glanced up quickly. “ Neces- 
sity?” he repeated. “How? Why?” 

The reiteration roused Loder. “Because 
there was a great scene in the House last 
night,” he began, hurriedly; “because when 
you go back you’ll find that Sefborough has 
smashed up over the assassination of Sir 
William Brice-Field at Meshed, and that you 
have made your mark in a big speech; and 


because — ” Abruptly he . stopped. The 
thing he had meant to say would not be said. 
Either his tongue or his resolution failed 
him, and for the instant he stood as silent 
and almost as ill at ease as his companion. 
“ Because, Chilcote — ” he went on, lamely. 
Then all at once inspiration came to him in 
the suggestion of a well-nigh forgotten argu- 
ment by which he might influence Chilcote 
and save his own self-respect. “ It’s all ov£r, 
Chilcote,” he said, more quietly ; “ it has run 
itself out.” Then in a dozen sentences he 
sketched the story of Lillian Astrupp — her 
past relations with himself, her present sus- 
picions. It was not what he had meant to 
say; it was not what he had come to say; but 
it served the purpose — it saved him humilia- 
tion. 

Chilcote listened to the last word; then as 
the other finished, he dropped nervously back 
into his chair. “Good heavens! man,” he 
said, “why didn’t you tell me — why didn’t 
you warn me, instead of filling my mind 
with your political position? Your political 
position !” He laughed unsteadily. The long 
spells of indulgence that had weakened his 
already maimed faculties showed in the 
laugh, in the sudden breaking of his voice. 
“You must do something, Loder!” he added, 
nervously, checking his amusement ; “ you 
must do something!” 

Loder looked down at him. “ No,” he said, 
decisively. “ It’s your turn now. It’s you 
who’ve got to do something.” 

Chilcote’s face turned a shade grayer. “I 
can’t,” he said, below his breath. 

“ Can’t ? Oh yes, you can. We can all do 
— anything. It’s not too late; there’s just 
sufficient time. Chilcote,” he added, sud- 
denly, “ don’t you see that the thing has 
been madness all along — has been like play- 
ing with the most infernal explosives? You 
may thank whatever you have faith in that 
nobody has been smashed up ! You are going 
back. Ho you understand me? You are 
going back — now, to-day, before it’s too late.” 
There was a great change in Loder ; his 
strong, imperturable face was stirred; he was 
moved in both voice and manner. Time after 
time he repeated his injunction — reasoning, 
expostulating, insisting. It almost seemed 
that he fought some strenuous invisible force 
rather .than the shattered man before him. 
“You are to go back,” he said, once more. 

Chilcote moved nervously in his seat. It 
was the first real clash of personalities. He 


884 


HARPERS BAZAR 


felt it — recognized it by instinct. The sense 
of domination had fallen on him; he knew 
himself impotent in the other’s hands. What- 
ever he might attempt in moments of soli- 
tude, he possessed no voice in presence of this 
invincible second self. For a while he strug- 
gled — he did not fight, he struggled to re- 
sist; then lifting his eyes, he met Loder’s. 
“ What will you do ?” he said, weakly. 

Loder returned his questioning gaze; then 
he turned aside. “ I V 9 he said. “ Oh, I shall 
leave London.” 

CHAPTER XXVII 

B UT Loder did not leave London, and 
the hour of two on the day following 
his dismissal of Chilcote found him 
again in his sitting-room. 

He sat at the centre-table, surrounded by a 
cloud of smoke; a pipe was between his lips 
and the morning’s newspapers lay in a heap 
beside his elbow. To the student of humanity 
his attitude was intensely interesting. It 
was the attitude of a man trammelled by the 
knowledge of his strength. Before him, as 
he sat smoking, stretched a future of abso- 
lute nothingness; and towards this blank 
future one portion of his consciousness — a 
struggling and as yet scarcely sentient por- 
tion — pushed him inevitably; while another — ■ 
a vigorous, persistent, human portion — cried 
to him to pause. So actual, so clamorous was 
this silent mental combat that had raged un- 
ceasingly since the moment of his renuncia- 
tion, that at last in physical response to it he 
rose and pushed back his chair. 

“ It’s too late !” he said, aloud. “ I’m a 
fool. It’s too late!” 

Then abruptly, astonishingly, as though in 
direct response to his spoken thought, the 
door opened and Chilcote walked into the 
room. 

Slowly Loder rose and stared at him. The 
feeling he acknowledged to himself was 
anger; but below the anger a very different 
sensation ran riotously strong. And it was 
in time to this second feeling, this sudden 
lawless joy, that his pulses beat as he turned 
a cold face on the intruder. 

“ Well ?” he said, sternly. 

But Chilcote was impervious to sternness. 
He was mentally shaken and distressed, 
though outwardly irreproachable, even to the 
violets in the lapel of his coat — the bunch of 
violets that for a week past had been brought 


each morning to the door of Loder’s rooms 
by Eve’s maid. For one second, as Loder’s 
eyes rested on the flowers, a sting of un- 
governable jealousy shot through him; then 
as suddenly it died away, superseded by an- 
other feeling — a feeling of new, spontaneous 
joy. Worn by Chilcote or by himself, the 
flowers were a symbol ! 

“ Well?” he said, again, in a gentler voice. 

Chilcote had walked to the table and laid 
down his hat. His face was white and the 
muscles of his lips twitched nervously as he 
drew off his gloves. 

“ Thank heaven, you’re here!” he said, 
shortly. “ Give me something to drink.” 

In silence Loder brought out the whiskey 
and set it on the table; then instinctively he 
turned aside. As plainly as though he saw 
it, he mentally figured Chilcote’s furtive 
glance, the furtive movement of his fingers 
to his waistcoat pocket, the hasty dropping of 
the tabloids into the glass. For an instant 
the sense of his tacit connivance came to him 
sharply; the next, he flung it from him. The 
human, inner voice was whispering its old 
watchword — the strong man has no time to 
waste over his weaker brother ! 

When he heard Chilcote lay down his 
tumbler he looked back again. “Well, what 
is it V 9 he said. “ What have you come for V 9 
He strove resolutely to keep his voice severe, 
but, try as he might, he could not quite sub- 
due the eager force that lay behind his words. 
Once again, as on the night of their second 
interchange, life had become a phoenix, rising 
to fresh existence even while he sifted its 
ashes. “ Well V 9 he said, once again. 

Chilcote had set down his glass. He was 
nervously passing his handkerchief across 
his lips. There was something in the gesture 
that attracted Loder. Looking at him more 
attentively, he saw what his own feelings and 
the other’s conventional dress had blinded 
him to — the almost piteous panic and excite- 
ment in his eyes. 

“ Something’s gone wrong !” he said, with 
abrupt intuition. 

Chilcote started. “Yes — no — that is, yes,” 
he stammered. 

Loder moved round the table. “ Some- 
thing’s gone wrong,” he repeated. “ And 
you’ve come to tell me.” 

The tone unnerved Chilcote; he suddenly 
dropped into a chair. “ It — it wasn’t my 
fault,” he began. “ I — I have had a horrible 
time !” 



Drawn by Clarence F. Underwood, 


A MAN WITH A PALLID, UNSHAVEN FACE AND LUSTRELESS EYES. 


886 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


Loder’s lips tightened. “ Yes,” he said, 
“ yes — I understand.” 

The other glanced np with a gleam of his 
old suspicion. “ ’Twas all my nerves, Lo- 
der — ” 

“ Of course. Yes, of course.” Loder’s in- 
terruption was curt. 

Chilcote eyed him doubtfully. Then recol- 
lection took the place of doubt and a change 
passed over his expression. “ It wasn’t my 
fault,” he began, hastily ; “ on my soul, it 
wasn’t! It was Crapham’s beastly fault for 
showing her into the morning-room — ” 

Loder kept silent. His curiosity had flared 
into sudden life at the other’s words, hut he 
feared to break the shattered train of thought. 

In the silence Chilcote moved uneasily. 
“ You see,” he went on at last, “ when I was 
here with you I — I felt strong. I — I — ” He 
stopped. 

“Yes, yes. When you were here with me 
you felt strong.” 

“Yes, that’s it. While I was here I felt I 
could do the thing. But when I went home — 
when I went up to my rooms — ” Again he 
paused, passing his handkerchief across his 
forehead. 

“ When you went up to your rooms ?” 
Loder strove hard to keep his control. 

“To my room — ? Oh, I — I forget about 
that. I forget about the night — ” He hesi- 
tated confusedly. “ All I remember is the 
coming down to breakfast next morning — this 
morning at twelve o’clock — ” 

Loder turned to th^ table and poured him- 
self out some whiskey. “ Yes,” he acquiesced, 
in a very quiet voice. 

At the word Chilcote rose from his seat. 
His disquietude was very evident. “ Oh, 
there was breakfast on the table when I came 
down-stairs — breakfast with flowers and a 
horrible dazzling glare of sun. It was then, 
Loder, as I stood and looked into the room, 
that the impossibility of it all came to me; 
that I knew I couldn’t stand it — couldn’t go 
on.” 

Loder swallowed his whiskey slowly. His 
sense of overpowering curiosity held him very 
still; hut he made no effort to prompt his 
companion. 

Again Chilcote shifted his position agita- 
tedly. “ It had to he done,” he said, dis- 
jointedly. “ I had to do it — then and there. 
The things were on the bureau — the pens 
and ink and telegraph forms. They tempt- 
ed me.” 


Loder laid down his glass suddenly. An 
exclamation rose to his lips, but he checked it. 

At the slight sound of the tumbler touch- 
ing the table Chilcote turned ; but there was no 
expression on the other’s face to affright him. 

“ They tempted me,” he repeated, hastily. 
“ They seemed like magnets — they seemed to 
draw me towards them. I sat at the bureau 
staring at them for a long time; then a ter- 
rible compulsion seized me — something you 
could never understand — and I caught up the 
nearest pen and wrote just what was in my 
mind. It wasn’t a telegram, properly speak- 
ing — it was more a letter. I wanted you 
back and I had to make myself plain. The 
writing of the message seemed to steady me; 
the mere forming of the words quieted the 
panic. I was almost cool when I got up from 
the bureau and pressed the bell — ” 

“ The bell?” 

“ Yes. I rang for a servant. I had to 
send the wire myself, so I had to get a cab.” 
His voice rose to irritability. “ I pressed the 
bell several times; but the thing had gone 
wrong — ’twouldn’t work. At last I gave it 
up and went into the corridor to call some 
one.” 

“Well?” In the intense suspense of the 
moment the word escaped Loder. 

“ Oh, I went out of the room, but there at 
the door, before I could call anybody, I 
knocked up against that idiot Greening. He 
was looking for me — for you, rather, about 
some beastly Wark affair. I tried to explain 
that I wasn’t in a state for business; I tried 
to shake him off, but he was worse than 
Blessington ! At last, to be rid of the fellow, 
I went with him to the study — ” 

“ But the telegram ?” Loder began ; then 
again he checked himself. “Yes — yes — I 
understand,” he added, quietly. 

“ I’m getting to the telegram ! I wish you 
wouldn’t jar me with sudden questions. I 
wasn’t in the study more than a minute — 
more than five or six minutes — ” His voice 
became confused; the strain of the connected 
recital was telling upon him. With nervous 
haste he made a rush for the end of his story. 
“ I wasn’t more than seven or eight minutes 
in the study; then as I came down-stairs 
Crapham met me in the hall. He told me 
that Lillian Astrupp had called* and wished to 
see me. And he had shown her into the 
morning-room — ” 

“ The morning-room ?” Loder suddenly 
stepped back from the table. “ The morning- 


THE MASQUERADER 


887 


room? With your telegram lying on the 
bureau ?” 

His sudden speech and movement startled 
Chilcote. The blood rushed to his face, then 
died out, leaving it ashen'. “ Don’t do that, 
Loder !” he cried. “ I — I can’t bear it !” 

With an immense effort Loder controlled 
himself. “ Sorry !” he said. “ But go on — 
if you can.” 

“ I’m going on ! I tell you I’m going on, 
if you give me time ! I got a horrid shock 
when Crapham told me. Your story came 
clattering through my mind. I knew Lillian 
had come to see you — I knew there was going 
to be a scene — ” 

“ But the telegram ? The telegram ?” 

Chilcote paid no heed to the interruption. 
He was following his own train of ideas. “ I 
knew she had come to see you — I knew there 
was going to be a scene. When I got to the 
morning-room my hand was shaking so that 
I could scarcely turn the handle; then as the 
door opened I could have cried out with re- 
lief. Eve was there as well!” 

“ Eve?” 

“Yes. I don’t think I was ever so glad to 
see her in my life.” He laughed almost 
hysterically. “ I was quite civil to her, and 
she was — quite sweet to me — ” Again he 
laughed. 

Loder’s lips tightened. 

“You see, it saved the situation,” Chilcote 
went on. “ Even if Lillian wanted to be 
nasty, she couldn’t while Eve was there. 
We talked for about ten minutes. We were 
quite an amiable trio. Then Lillian told me 
why she’d called. She wanted me to make a 
fourth in a theatre party at the ‘ Avenue ’ to- 
night, and I — I was so pleased and so re- 
lieved that I said I would!” He paused and 
laughed again unsteadily. 

In his tense anxiety Loder ground his heel 
into the floor. “ Go on!” he said, fiercely. 
“ Go on !” 

“ Don’t!” Chilcote exclaimed, again. “I’m 
going on — I’m going on.” He passed his 
handkerchief across his lips. “ We talked for 


ten minutes or so, and then Lillian left. I 
went with her to the hall door, but Crapham 
was there too — so I was still safe. She laugh- 
ed and chatted and seemed in high spirits as 
we crossed the hall, and she was still smiling 
as she waved to me from her motor. But 
then, Loder — then, as I stood in the hall, it 
all came to me suddenly. I remembered that 
Lillian must have been alone in the morn- 
ing-room before Eve found her! I remem- 
bered the telegram ! I ran back to the room, 
meaning to question Eve as to how long 
Lillian had been alone, but she was gone and 
the room was empty. I ran to the bureau — but 
the telegram wasn’t there!” 

“ Gone ?” 

“ Yes, gone. That’s why I’ve come 
straight here.” 

For a moment they confronted each other. 
Then, moved by a sudden impulse, Loder 
pushed Chilcote aside and crossed the room. 
An instant later the opening and shutting of 
doors, the hasty pulling out of drawers and 
moving of boxes, came from the bedroom. 

Chilcote, shaken and nervous, stood for a 
minute where his companion had left him; 
at last, impelled by curiosity, he too crossed 
the narrow passage and entered the second 
room. 

The full light streamed in through the open 
window’, the keen spring air blew freshly 
across the house-tops, and on the window-sill 
a band of grimy, joyous sparrows twittered 
and preened themselves. In the middle of the 
room stood Loder. His coat was off, and 
round him on chairs and floor lay an array 
of waistcoats, gloves, and ties. 

For a space Chilcote stood in the doorway 
staring at him; then his lips parted and he 
took a step forward. “ Loder — ” he said, 
anxiously. “Loder, what are you going to 
do?” 

Loder turned. His shoulders were stiff, his 
face alight with energy. “ I’m going back,” 
he said, “ to unravel the tangle you have 
made.” 

[to be continued.] 





HARPER’S BAZAR 




BY A. T. ASHMORE 



J UDGING from past years, one ex- 
pects at this time of year no new 
fashions for summer costumes. 
But for fashion - designers, dress- 
makers, tailors, milliners, etc., the 
year 1904 will be a record year. As 
regards the number of clothes re- 
quired by any woman who wishes to 
be gowned according to the latest 
fashion information, this summer 


Blouse of delicate pink-and-green check taffeta with 
knots of the same and bands on collar and cuffs ; yoke of 
cream lace over white. 


has been ahead of all former seasons. 
Such changing and confusion as have 
prevailed for many months in re- 
gard to what really was to be worn 
have certainly never been known, and 
it is sincerely to be hoped will never 
be known again. Even to the women 
who have made the study of dress the 
main one in their lives, the question 
has proved most bewildering. 

Very glibly are we informed 
that the styles of 1830, 1860, etc., 
the different Louis, the Direc- 
toire, the Empire, and so on, are all 
in fashion, but it would take a 
historian of such knowledge as is 
acquired by few to determine posi- 
tively which style of dress really 
was worn at the different times 
mentioned, judging from the ex- 
traordinary models that are now 
furnished and that are said to be 
exact copies of the dress of these 
different periods. 

The woman with a longing to be 
thought picturesque and with an 
eye for color has a hard time 
in these days steering her way 
through the many pitfalls that 
surround her, and it in truth re- 
quires an immense amount of con- 
centration of purpose not to be led 
astray by the picturesque fashions 
that in the illustrations look so 
much more attractive than they do 
on the individual. One rule should 
always be followed, that no style 
should be chosen that is markedly 
unbecoming. It is far better to 
dress according to the style of last 
year, provided that style was be- 
coming, than to run the risk 







A PRAYER 


989 



Blind with my starting tears: 
Nothing have I to proffer 
From all my surging years. 


From yesterday or morrow, 
This only did I win : — 
Comfort — I said — my sorrow ! 
But now — Forgive my sin ! 


990 


HARPERS BAZAR 





CHAPTER XXVIII 

ODER’S plan of action was ar- 
rived at before he reached 
Trafalgar Square. The facts 
of the case were simple. Chil- 
cote had left an incrimina- 
ting telegram on the bureau 
in the morning-room at Grosvenor Square; 
by an unlucky chance Lillian Astrupp had 
been shown up into that room, where 
she had remained alone until the mo- 
ment that Eve, either by request or by acci- 
dent, had found her there. The facts re- 
solved themselves into one question — what 
use had Lillian made of those solitary mo- 
ments? Without deviation, Loder’s mind 
turned towards one answer. Lillian was not 
the woman to lose an opportunity, whether 
the space at her command were long or short. 
True, Eve too had been alone in the room 
while Chilcote had accompanied Lillian to 
the door; but of this he made small account. 
Eve had been there; but Lillian had been 
there first. Judging by precedent, by per- 
sonal character, by all human probability, it 
was not to be supposed that anything would 
have been left for the second comer. 

So convinced was he of this that, reaching 
Trafalgar Square, he stopped and hailed a 
hansom. 

“ Cadogan Gardens!” he called. “ No. 
33 .” 

The moments seemed very few before the 
cab drew up beside the curb and he caught 
his second glimpse of the enamelled door 
with its elaborate fittings. The white and 
silver gleamed in the sunshine; banks of 
cream-colored hyacinths were clustered on the 

Begun in Harper’s Bazar No i., Vol. XXXVIII. 


window-sills, filling the clear air with a warm 
and fragrant scent. With that strange sen- 
sation of having lived through the scene be- 
fore, Loder left the cab and walked up the 
steps. Instantly he pressed the bell the door 
was opened by Lillian’s discreet, deferential 
man-servant. 

“ Is Lady Astrupp at home ?” Loder asked. 

The man looked thoughtful. “ Her lady- 
ship ■ lunched at home, sir — ” he began, 
cautiously. 

But Loder interrupted him. “ Ask her to 
see me,” he said, laconically. 

The servant expressed no surprise. His 
only comment was to throw the door wide. 

“ If you’ll wait in the white room, sir,” he 
said, “ I’ll inform her ladyship.” Chilcote 
was evidently a frequent and a favored 
visitor. 

In this manner Loder for the second time 
entered the house so unfamiliar — and yet so 
familiar in all that it suggested. Entering 
the drawing-room, he had leisure to look 
about him. It was a beautiful r’bom, large 
and lofty; luxury was evident on every hand, 
but it was not the luxury that palls or 
offends. Each object was graceful, and pos- 
sessed its own intrinsic value. The atmos- 
phere was too effeminate to appeal to him, 
but he acknowledged the taste and artistic 
delicacy it conveyed. As he arrived at this 
conclusion the door opened to admit Lillian. 

She wore the same gown of pale-colored 
cloth, warmed and softened by rich furs, that 
she had worn on the day she and Chilcote 
had driven in the Park. She was drawing 
on her gloves as she came into the room. 
Pausing near the door, she looked across at 
Loder and laughed in her slow, amused way. 



THE MASQUERADER 


991 


“ I thought it would be you,” she said, 
enigmatically. 

Loder came forward. “ You expected me?” 
he said, guardedly. A sudden conviction 
filled him that it was not the evidence of her 
eyes, but something at once subtler and more 
definite, that prompted her recognition of 
him. 

She smiled. “ Why should I expect you ? 
On the contrary, I’m waiting to know why 
you’re here.” 

He was silent for an instant ; then he 
answered in her own light tone : “ As far 
as that goes, let’s make it my duty call — 
having dined with you. I’m an old-fashioned 
person.” 

For a full second she surveyed him 
amusedly ; then at last she spoke. “ My dear 
Jack ” — she laid particular stress on the 
name — “ I never imagined you punctilious. I 
should have thought bohemian would have 
been more the word.” 

Loder felt" disconcerted and annoyed. 
Either, like himself, she was fishing for in- 
formation, or she was deliberately playing 
with him. In his perplexity he glanced across 
the room towards the fireplace. 

Lillian saw the look. “ Won’t you sit 
down ?” she said, indicating the couch. “ I 
promise not to make you smoke. I sha’n’t 
even ask you to take off your gloves!” 

Loder made no movement. His mind was 
unpleasantly upset. It was nearly a fortnight 
since he had seen Lillian, and in the interval 
her attitude had changed, and the change 
puzzled him. It might mean the philosophy 
of a woman who, knowing herself without 
adequate weapons, withdraws from a combat 
that has proved fruitless; or it might imply 
the merely catlike desire to toy with a cer- 
tainty. He looked quickly at the delicate 
face, the green eyes somewhat obliquely set, 
the unreliable mouth, and instantly he in- 
clined to the latter theory. The conviction 
that she possessed the telegram filled him 
suddenly, and with it came the desire to put 
his belief to the test — to know beyond ques- 
tion whether her smiling unconcern meant 
malice or mere entertainment. 

“ When you first came into the room,” he 
said, quietly, “ you said, ‘ I thought it would 
be you!’ Why did you say that?” 

Again she smiled — the smile that might be 
malicious or might be merely amused. “ Oh,” 
she answered at last, “ I only meant that 
though I had been told Jack Chilcote wanted 


me, it wasn’t Jack Chilcote I expected to 
see !” 

After her statement there was a pause. 
Loder’s position was difficult. Instinctively 
convinced that, strong in the possession of 
her proof, she was enjoying his tantalized 
discomfort, he yet craved the actual evidence 
that should set his suspicions to rest. Acting 
upon the desire, he made a new beginning. 
“ Do you know why I came ?” he asked. 

, Lillian looked up innocently. “ It’s so 
hard to be certain of anything in this world,” 
she said. “ But one is always at liberty to 
guess.” 

Again he was perplexed. Her attitude 
was not quite the attitude of one who con- 
trols the game, and yet — He looked at her 
with a puzzled scrutiny. Women for him 
had always spelt the incomprehensible; he 
was at his best, his strongest, his surest in 
the presence of men. Feeling his disadvan- 
tage, yet determined to gain his end, he made 
a last attempt. 

“ How did you amuse yourself at Grosvenor 
Square this morning before Eve came to 
you?” he asked. The effort was awkwardly 
blunt, but it was direct. 

Lillian was buttoning her glove. She did 
not raise her head as he spoke, but her 
fingers paused in their task. For a second 
she remained motionless, then she looked up 
slowly. “ Oh,” she said, sweetly, “ so I was 
right in my guess ! You did come to find out 
whether I sat in the morning-room with my 
hands in* my lap — or wandered about in 
search of entertainment?” 

Loder colored with annoyance and appre- 
hension. Every look, every tone of Lillian’s 
was distasteful to him. Ho microscope could 
have revealed her more fully to him than did 
his own eyesight. But it was not the mo- 
ment for personal antipathies ; there were 
other interests than his own at stake. With 
new resolution he returned her glance. 

“ Then I must still ask my first question, 
Why did you say, ‘ I thought it would be 
you ’ ?” His gaze was direct — so direct that it 
disconcerted her. She laughed a little uneasily. 

“ Because I knew it.” 

“ How did you know ?” 

“ Because — ” she began ; then again she 
laughed. “ Because,” she added, quickly, as 
if moved by a fresh impulse, “Jack Chil- 
cote made it very obvious to any one who was 
in his morning-room at twelve o’clock to-day 
that it would be you and not he who would 


992 


HARPER’ 8 BAZAR 


be found in his place this afternoon ! 
It’s all very well to talk about honor, but 
when one walks into an empty room and sees 
a telegram as long as a letter open on a 
bureau — ” 

But her sentence was never finished. Loder 
had heard what he came to hear; any con- 
fession she might have to offer was of no 
moment in his eyes. 

“ My dear girl,” he broke in, brusquely, 
“ don’t trouble! I should make a most un- 
satisfactory father confessor.” He spoke 
quickly. His color was still high, but not with 
annoyance. His suspense was transformed 
into unpleasant certainty, but the exchange 
left him surer of himself. His perplexity 
had dropped to a quiet sense of self-reliance; 
his paramount desire was for solitude in 
which to prepare for the task that lay before 
him, the most congenial task the world pos- 
sessed — the unravelling of Chilcote’s tangled 
skeins. Looking into Lillian’s eyes, he 
smiled. “ Good-by !” he said, holding out 
his hand. “ I think we’ve finished — for to- 
day.” 

She slowly extended her fingers. Her ex- 
pression and attitude were slightly puzzled — 
a puzzlement that was either spontaneous or 
singularly well assumed. As their hands 
touched she smiled again. 

“ Will you drop in at the ‘ Avenue ’ to- 
night ?” she said. “ It’s the dramatized ver- 
sion of Other Men’s Shoes! The temptation 
to make you see it was too irresistible — as 
you know.” 

There was a pause while she waited for 
his answer — her head inclined to one side, 
her green eyes gleaming. 

Loder, conscious of her regard, hesitated 
for a moment. Then his face cleared. 
“ Bight !” he said, slowly. “ The ‘ Avenue ’ 
to-night !” 

CHAPTEB XXIX 

L ODEB’S frame of mind as he left Cado- 
gan Gardens was peculiar. Once more 
^ he was living in the present, the force- 
ful exhilarating present, and the knowledge 
braced him. Upon one point his mind was 
satisfied. Lillian Astrupp had found the tele- 
gram, and it remained to him to render her 
find valueless. How he proposed to do this, 
how he proposed to come out triumphant in 
face of such a situation, was a matter that 
as yet was shapeless in his mind ; nevertheless, 
the danger — the sense of impending conflict 
— had a savor of life after the inaction of 


the day and night just passed. Chilcote in 
his weakness and his entanglement had turn- 
ed to him, and he in his strength and ca- 
pacity had responded to the appeal. 

His step was firm and his bearing assured 
as he turned into Grosvenor Square and 
walked towards the familiar house. 

The habit of self-deceit is as insidious and 
tenacious as any vice. For one moment on 
the night of his great speech, as he leant out 
of Chilcote’s carriage and met Chilcote’s 
eyes, Loder had seen himself — and under 
the shock of revelation had taken decisive 
action. But in the hours subsequent to that 
action the plausible, inner voice had whis- 
pered unceasingly, soothing his wounded self- 
esteem, rebuilding stone by stone the temple 
of his egotism; until at last when Chilcote, 
panic-stricken at his own action, had burst 
into his rooms ready to plead or to coerce, 
he had found no need for either coercion or 
entreaty. By a power more subtle and effect- 
ive than any at his command Loder had 
been prepared for his coming — uncon- 
sciously ready with an acquiescence before 
his appeal had been made. It was the fruit 
of this preparation, the inevitable outcome 
of it, that strengthened his step and steadied 
his hand as he mounted the steps and opened 
the hall door of Chilcote’s house on that 
eventful afternoon. 

The dignity, the air of quiet solidity, im- 
pressed him as it never failed to do as he 
crossed the large hall and ascended the 
stairs — the same stairs that he had passed 
down almost as an outcast not so many hours 
before. He was filled with the sense of 
things regained; belief in his own star lifted 
him as it had done a hundred times before in 
these same surroundings. 

He quickened his steps as the sensation 
came to him. Then, reaching the head of 
the stairs, he turned directly towards Eve’s 
sitting-room and, gaining the door, knocked. 
The strength of his eagerness, the quick 
beating of his pulse as he waited for a re- 
sponse, surprised him. He had told himself 
again and again that his passion, however 
strong, would never again conquer as it had 
done two nights ago — and the fact that he 
had come thus candidly to Eve’s room was. 
to bis mind a proof that temptation might be 
dared. Nevertheless there was something 
disconcerting to a strong man in this merely 
physical perturbation; and when Eve’s voice 
came to him at last, giving permission to 



vol. xxxviil — 63 


HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE A GREAT MAN?” 


994 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


enter, he paused ior an instant to steady 
himself; then with sudden decision he open- 
ed the door and walked into the room. 

The blinds were partly drawn, there was a 
scent, of violets in the air and a fire glowed 
warmly in the grate. He noted these things 
carefully, telling himself that a man should 
always be alertly sensible of his surround- 
ings; then all at once the nice balancing of 
detail suddenly gave way; he forgot every- 
thing but the one circumstance that Eve was 
standing by the window, her back to the 
light, her face towards him. With his pulses 
beating faster and an unsteady sensation in 
his brain, he moved forward, holding out his 
hand. 

“ Eve — ?” he said below his breath. 

But Eve remained motionless. As he came 
into the room she had glanced at him — a 
glance of quick, searching question ; then with 
equal suddenness she had averted her eyes. 
As he drew close to her now she remained 
immovable. 

“ Eve — ” he said again. “ I wanted to see 
you — I wanted to explain about yesterday and 
this morning.” He paused, suddenly dis- 
turbed. The full remembrance of the scene 
in the brougham had surged up at sight of 
her — had risen a fierce, unquenchable recol- 
lection. “ Eve — ” he began again in a new, 
abrdpt tone. 

But it was then that Eve showed herself in 
a fresh light. From his entrance into the 
room she had stayed motionless, save for her 
first glance of acute inquiry; but now her 
demeanor changed. For almost the first time 
in Loder’s knowledge of her the vitality and 
force that he had vaguely apprehended below 
her quiet, serene exterior sprang up like a 
flame within whose radius all things are illu- 
minated. With a quick gesture she turned 
towards him, her warm color deepening, her 
eyes suddenly alight. 

“ I understand,” she said, “ I understand. 
Don’t try to explain! Can’t you see that it’s 
enough to — to see you as you are?” 

Loder was surprised. Remembering their 
last passionate scene, and the damper Chil- 
cote’s subsequent presence must inevitably 
have cast upon it, he had expected to be 
doubtfully received; but the reality of the re- 
ception left him bewildered. Eve’s manner was 
not that of the ill-used wife; its vehemence, 
its note of desire and depreciation, were more 
suggestive of his own ardent seizing of the 
present as distinguished from past or future. 


With an odd sense of confusion he turned to 
her afresh. 

“ Then I am forgiven ?” he said. And un- 
consciously, as he moved nearer, he touched 
her arm. 

At his touch she started. All the yielding 
sweetness, all the submission, that had mark- 
ed her two nights ago was gone; in its place 
she was possessed by a curious excitement 
that stirred while it perplexed. 

Loder, moved by the sensation, took another 
step forward. “ Then I am forgiven ?” he re- 
peated, more softly. 

Her face was averted as he spoke, but he 
felt her arm quiver; at last she lifted her 
head and their eyes met. Neither spoke, 
but in an instant Loder’s arms were round 
her. 

For a long silent space they stood holding 
each other closely. Then with a sharp move- 
ment Eve freed herself. Her color was still 
high, her eyes still peculiarly bright, but the 
bunch of violets she had worn in her belt had 
fallen to the ground. 

“ J ohn — ” she said, quickly ; then her 
breath caught. With a touch of nervousness 
she stooped to pick up the flowers. 

Loder noticed both voice and gesture. 
“ What is it ?” he said. “ What were you 
going to say?” 

But she made no answer. For a second 
longer she searched for the violets; then as 
he bent to assist her, she stood up quickly 
and laughed — a short, embarrassed laugh. 

“ How absurd and nervous I am !” she ex- 
claimed. “ Like a schoolgirl instead of a 
woman of twenty-four. You must help me to 
be sensible.” Her cheeks still burned, her 
manner was still excited, like one who holds 
an emotion or an impulse at bay. 

Loder looked at her uncertainly. “ Eve — ” 
he began again with his odd, characteristic 
perseverance, but she instantly checked him. 
There was a finality, a faint suggestion of 
fear, in her protest. 

“ Don’t!” she said. “ Don’t! I don’t want 
explanations. I want to — to enjoy the mo- 
ment without having things analyzed or 
smoothed away. Can’t you understand? 
Can’t you see that I’m wonderfully, terribly 
happy to — to have you — as you are?” Again 
her voice broke — a break that might have 
been a laugh or a sob. 

The sound was an emotional crisis, as such 
a sound invariably is. It arrested and 
steadied her. For a moment she stood abso- 


THE MASQUERADER 


995 



I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE YOU,” SHE SAID, ENIGMATICALLY. 


lutely still; then with something very closely 
resembling her old repose of manner she 
stooped again and quietly picked up the 
flowers still lying at her feet. 

“ Now,” she said, quietly, “ I must say what 
Eve wanted to say all along. How does it 
feel to be a great mtm?” Her manner was 
controlled, she looked at him evenly and 
directly; save for the faint vibration in her 
voice, there was nothing to indicate the tumult 
of a moment ago. 


But Loder was still uncertain. He caught 
her hand, his eyes searching hers. 

“ But, Eve — ” he began. 

Then Eve played the last card in her 
mysterious game. Laughing quickly and 
nervously, she freed her hand and laid it over 
his mouth. 

“ No!” she said. “ Not one word! All this 
past fortnight has belonged to you; now it’s 
my turn. To-day is mine.” 

[to be continued.] 


996 


HARPER’S BAZAR 



Drawn by F. Y. CORY. 

THE SIMPLE PLEASURES OF CHILDHOOD 
VI. — “ playin’ hospital.” 


HARPER'S BAZAR 



<rr^n^c£-Y.lli^ * « 


CHAPTER XXX 
ND once again the woman con- 
quered. Whatever Eve’s in- 
tentions were, whatever she 
wished to evade or ward off, 
she was successful in gaining 
her end. For more than two 
hours she kept Loder at her side. There may 
have been moments in those two hours when 
the tension was high, when the efforts she 
made to interest and hold him were some- 
what strained. But if this was so it es- 
caped the notice of the one person con- 
cerned ; for it was long after tea had been 
served, long after Eve had offered to do 
penance for her monopoly of him by driving 
him to Chilcote’s club, that Loder realized 
with any degree of distinctness that it was 
she and not he who had taken the lead in 
the interview. That it was she and not he 
who had bridged the difficult silences and 
given a fresh direction to dangerous channels 
of talk. It was long before he recognized 
this; but it was still longer before he realized 
the far more potent fact that, without any 
coldness, any lessening of the subtle consid- 
eration she always showed him, she had given 
him no further opportunity of making love. 

Talking continuously, elated with the sense 
of conflict still to come, Loder drove with her 
to the club. Considering that drive in the 
light of after events, his own frame of mind 
invariably filled him with incredulity. In 
the eyes of any sane man his position was 
not worth an hour’s purchase ; yet in the blind 
self-confidence of the moment he would not 
have changed places with Fraide himself. 
The great song of Self was sounding in 

Begun in Harper’s Bazar No i., Vol. XXXVIII. 


his ears as he drove through the crowded 
streets, conscious of the cool, crisp air, of 
Eve’s close presence, of the numberless in- 
finitesimal things that went to make up the 
value of life. It was this acknowledgment of 
personality that upheld him; the personality, 
the power that had, carried him unswervingly 
through eleven -colorless years, that had im- 
pelled him towards this new career when the 
new career had first been opened to him, that 
had hewn a way for him in this fresh ex- 
istence against colossal odds — the indomita- 
ble force that had trampled out Chilcote’s 
footmarks in public life, in private life — in 
love. It was a triumphant paean that clam- 
ored in his ears, something persistent and pro- 
phetic with an undernote of menace. The cry 
of the human soul that has dared to stand 
alone. 

His glance was keen and bright as he stood 
for a moment at the carriage door and took 
Eve’s hand before entering the club. 

“ You’re dining out to-night?” he said. His 
fingers, always tenacious and masterful, con- 
tinued to hold hers. The compunction that 
had driven him temporarily towards sacrifice 
had passed. His pride, his confidence, and 
with them his desire, had flowed back in full 
measure. 

Eve, watching him attentively, paled a 
little. “ Yes,” she said, “ I’m dining with the 
Bramfells.” 

“ What time will you get home ?” He 
scarcely realized why he put the question. 
The song of Self still sounded triumphantly, 
and he responded without reflection. 

His eyes held hers, his fingers pressed her 
hand; the intense mastery of his will passed 
through her in a sudden sense of fear. Her 



THE MASQUERADER 


1081 


lips parted in deprecation, but he, closely at- 
tentive of her expression, spoke again quickly. 

“ When can I see you ?” he asked, very 
quietly. 

Again Eve was about to speak. She leant 
forward, as if some thought long suppressed 
trembled on her lips; then her courage failed 
her. She leant back, letting her lashes droop 
over her eyes. “ I shall be home at eleven,” 
she said, below her breath. 

Loder dined with Lakeley at Chilcote’s 
club; and so absorbing were the political in- 
terests of the hour — the resignation of Sir 
Robert Sefborough, the King’s summoning of 
Fraide, the probable features of the new 
Ministry — that it was after nine o’clock 
when he freed himself and drove to the 
Avenue Theatre. The manner of his leaving 
the club was hurried. Once at liberty 
to carry out his enterprise, he was filled 
with a desire for speed. He made no state- 
ment of the fact to himself, he gave no out- 
ward evidence of it, but* there was a con- 
trolled haste in all his actions. Fate and he 
were playing for high stakes, and he was pos- 
sessed with the true gambler’s ambition to 
play rapidly and with a calm front. When 
the last card was thrown down he might rise 
from the game beggared, but while the final 
round was still to be played he refused to 
look ahead. 

The sound of music came to him as he en- 
tered the theatre — the light, measured music 
suggestive of tiny streams, toy lambs, and 
painted shepherdesses. It sounded singularly 
inappropriate to his mood — as inappropriate 
as the theatre itself with its gay gilding, its 
pale tones of pink and blue. It was the set- 
ting of a different world — a world of laughter, 
light thoughts, and shallow impulses, in 
which he had no part. He halted for an in- 
stant outside the box to which the attendant 
had shown him ; then, as the door was thrown 
open, he straightened himself resolutely and 
walked forward. 

It was the interval between the first and 
second acts. The box was in shadow, and 
Loder’s first impression was of voices and 
rustling skirts broken in upon by the murmur 
of frequent, amused laughter; then as his 
eyes grew accustomed to the light he dis- 
tinguished the occupants — two women and a 
man. The man was speaking as he entered, 
and the story he was relating was evidently 
interesting from the faint exclamations of 


question and delight that punctuated it in the 
listeners’ higher, softer voices. As Loder 
stepped forward they all three turned and 
looked at him. 

“ Ah, here comes the legislator !” exclaimed 
Leonard Kaine. For it was he who formed 
the male element in the party. 

“ The Revolutionary, Lennie !” Lillian cor- 
rected, softly. “ Bramfell says he has changed 
the whole face of things — ” She laughed 
softly and meaningly as she closed her fan. 
“ So good of you to come, J ack !” she added. 
“ Let me introduce you to Miss Esseltyn ; I 
don’t think you two have met. This is Mr. 
Chilcote, Mary — the great, new Mr. Chil- 
cote.” Again she laughed. 

Loder bowed and moved to the front of the 
box, nodding to Kaine as he passed. 

“ It’s only for an hour,” he explained to 
Lillian. “ I have an appointment at eleven.” 
Then he turned to the third occupant of the 
box — a remarkably young and well-dressed 
girl with very wide-awake eyes and a re- 
trousse nose. 

“ Only an hour ! Oh, how unkind ! How 
should I punish him, Lennie?” Lillian looked 
round at Kaine with a lingering glance. 

He bent towards her in quick response and 
answered in a whisper. 

She laughed and replied in an equally low 
tone. 

Loder, to whom both remarks had been 
inaudible, dropped into the vacant seat beside 
Mary Esseltyn. He had the unsettled feeling 
that things were not falling out exactly as he 
had calculated. 

“ What is the play like ?” he hazarded 
as he looked towards her. At all times 
social trivialities bored him; to-night they 
were intolerable. He had come to fight, but 
all at once it seemed that there was no 
opponent. Lillian’s attitude disturbed him; 
her careless graciousness, her evident ignor- 
ing of him for Kaine, might mean nothing — 
but might mean much. 

So he speculated as he put his question 
and spurred his attention towards the girl’s 
answer; but with the speculation came the 
resolve to hold his own — to meet his enemy 
upon whatever ground she chose to appro- 
priate. 

The girl looked at him with interest. She 
too had heard of his triumph. “ It is a good 
play,” she responded. “ I like it better than 
the book. You’ve read the book, of course?” 

“ No.” Loder tried hard to fix his thoughts. 


1082 


HARPERS BAZAR 


“ It’s amusing — but far-fetched.” 

“ Indeed ?” He picked up the programme 
lying on the edge of the box. His ears were 
strained to catch the tone of Lillian’s voice as 
she laughed and whispered with Kaine. 

“Yes; men exchanging identities, you 
know.” 

He looked up and caught the girl’s self- 
possessed glance. “ Oh !” he said. “ Indeed ?” 
Then again he looked away. It was intolera- 
ble, this feeling of being caged up! A sense 
of anger crept through his mind. It almost 
seemed that Lillian had brought him there to 
prove that she had finished with him — had 
cast him aside, having used him for the day’s 
excitement as she had used her poodles, her 
Persian cats, her crystal-gazing. All at once 
the impotency and uncertainty of his posi- 
tion goaded him. Turning swiftly in his seat, 
he glanced back to where she sat, slowly 
swaying her fan, her pale golden hair 
delicately silhouetted against the background 
of the box. 

“ What’s your idea of the play, Lillian ?” he 
said, abruptly. To his own ears there was a 
note of challenge in his voice. 

She looked round languidly. “ Oh, it’s 
quite amusing,” she s^id. “ It makes a de- 
licious farce — absolutely French.” 

“ French ?” 

“ Quite. Don’t you think so, Lennie ?” 

“ Oh, quite,” Kaine agreed. 

“ They mean that it’s so very light — and 
yet so very subtle, Mr. Chilcote,” Mary Es- 
seltyn explained. 

“ Indeed ?” he said. “ Then my imagina- 
tion was at fault. I thought the piece was 
serious.” 

“ Serious !” Lillian smiled again. “ Why, 
where’s your sense of humor? The motive of 
the play debars seriousness.” 

Loder looked down at the programme still 
between his hands. “ What is the motive ?” 
he asked. 

Lillian waved her fan once or twice, then 
closed it softly. “ Love is the motive,” she 
said. 

Now the balancing, the adjusting of im- 
pression and inspiration, is, of all processes in 
life, the most delicately fine. The simple 
sound of the word “ love ” coming at that pre- 
cise juncture changed the whole current of 
LodePs thought. It fell like a seed; and like 
a seed in ultra-productive soil, it bore fruit 
with amazing rapidity. 

The word itself was small and the manner 


in which it was spoken trivial, but Loder’s 
mind was attracted and held by it. The last 
time it had met his ears his environment had 
been vastly different, and this echo of it in 
an uncongenial atmosphere stung him to re- 
sentment. The vision of Eve, the thought of 
Eve, became suddenly dominant. 

“ Love ?” he repeated, coldly. “ So love is 
the motive?” 

“Yes.” This time it was Kaine who re- 
sponded in his methodical, contented voice. 
“ The motive of the play is love, as Lillian 
says. And when was love ever serious in a 
three-act comedy — on or off the stage?” He 
leant forward in his seat, screwed in his eye- 
glass, and lazily scanned the stalls. 

The orchestra was playing a Hungarian 
dance — its erratic harmonies and wild alter- 
nations of expression falling abruptly across 
the pinks and blues, the gilding and lights of 
the pretty, conventional theatre. Something 
in the suggestion of unfitness appealed to 
Loder. It was the force of the real as opposed 
to the ideal. With a new expression on his 
face, he turned again to Kaine. 

“ And how does it work ?” he said. “ This 
treatment that you find so — French?” 

His voice as well as his expression had 
changed. He still spoke quietly, but he spoke 
with interest. He was no longer conscious of 
his vague irritation and uneasiness; a fresh 
chord had been struck in his mind, and his 
curiosity had responded to it. For the first 
time it occurred to him that love, that dan- 
gerous, mysterious garden whose paths had so 
suddenly stretched out before him, was a pleas- 
ure-ground that possessed many doors — and 
an infinite number of keys. He was stirred 
by the desire to peer through another entrance 
than his own — to see the secret, alluring by- 
ways from another standpoint. He waited 
with interest for the answer to his ques- 
tion. 

For a second or two Kaine continued to 
survey the house; then his eye-glass dropped 
from his eye and he turned round. 

“ To understand the thing,” he said, pleas- 
antly, “ you must have read the book. Have 
you read the book ?” 

“ No, Mr. Kaine,” Mary Esseltyn inter- 
rupted, “ Mr. Chilcote hasn’t read the book.” 

Lillian laughed. “ Outline the story for 
him, Lennie,” she said. “ I love to see other 
people taking pains.” 

Kaine glanced at her admiringly. “Well, 
to begin with,” he said, amiably, “two men. 


THE MASQUERADER 


1083 


an artist and a millionaire, exchange lives. 

Seer 

“ You may presume that he does see, 
Lennie.” 

“ Right ! Well then, as I say, these beg- 
gars change identities. They’re as like as 
pins; and to all appearances one chap’s the 
other chap, and the other chap’s the first 
chap. See ?” 

Loder laughed. The newly quickened in- 
terest was enhanced by treading on dangerous 
ground. 

“ Well, they change for a lark, of course, 
but there’s one fact they both overlook. 
They’re men, you know, and they forget these 
little things!” He laughed delightedly. 
u They overlook the fact that one of ’em 
has got a wife !” 

There was a crash of music from the or- 
chestra. Loder sat straighter in his seat; he 
was conscious that the blood had rushed to 
his face. 

Oh, indeed ?” he said, quickly. “ One of 
them had a wife ?” 

“ Exactly !” Again Kaine chuckled. u And 
the point of the joke is that the wife is the 
least larky person under the sun. See?” 

A second hot wave passed over Loder’s 
face; a sense of mental disgust filled him. 
This, then, was the wonderful garden seen 
from another standpoint! He looked from 
Lillian, graceful, sceptical, and shallow, to the 
young girl beside him, so frankly modern in 
her appreciation of life. This, then, was love 
as seen by the eyes of the world — the world 
that accepts, judges, and condemns in a slang 
phrase or two! Very slowly the blood receded 
from his face. 

“ And the end of the story ?” he asked, in a 
strained voice. 

“ The end ? Oh, usual end, of course ! Chap 
makes a mess of things and the bubble 
bursts !” 

“ And the wife ?” 

“ The end of the wife ?” Lillian broke in 
with a little laugh. “ Why, the end of all 
stupid people who, instead of going through 
life with a lot of delightfully human stumbles, 
come just one big cropper. She naturally 
ends in the divorce court !” 

They all laughed boisterously. Then laugh- 
ter, story, and denouement were all drowned 
in a tumultuous crash of music. The orches- 
tra ceased, there was a slight hum of applause, 
a bell rang, and the curtain rose on the second 
act of the comedy. 


CHAPTER XXXI 

A FEW minutes before the curtain fell on 
the second act of “ Other Men’s Shoes ” 
Loder rose from his seat and made his 
apologies to Lillian. 

At any other moment he might have pon- 
dered over her manner of accepting them — 
the easy indifference with which she let him 
go. But vastly keener issues were claiming 
his attention, issues whose results were wide 
and black. 

He left the theatre, and refusing the over- 
tures of cabmen, set himself to walk to Chil- 
cote’s house. His face was hard and emo- 
tionless as he hurried forward, but the chaos 
in his mind found expression in the uneven- 
ness of his pace. To a strong man the con- 
fronting of difficulties is never alarming and 
is often fraught with inspiration ; but this ap- 
plies essentially to the difficulties evolved 
through the weakness, the folly, or the force 
of another; when they arise from within the 
matter is of another character. It is in pres- 
ence of his own soul, and in that presence 
alone, that a man may truly measure himself. 

As Loder walked onward, treading the 
familiar length of traffic - filled street, he 
realized for the first time that he was stand- 
ing before that solemn tribunal — that the 
hour had come when he must answer to 
himself for himself. The longer and deeper 
an oblivion, the more painful the awakening. 
For months the song of Self had beaten about 
his ears, deadening all other sounds; now 
abruptly that song had ceased — not consider- 
ately, not lingeringly, but with a suddenness 
that made the succeeding silence very ter- 
rible. 

He walked forward, keeping his direction 
unseeingly. He was passing through the 
fire as surely as though actual flames rose 
about his feet; and whatever the result, what- 
ever the fibre of the man who emerged from 
the ordeal, the John Loder who had hewn his 
way through the past weeks would exist no 
more. The triumphant egotist — the strong 
man — who by his own strength had kept his 
eyes upon one point, refusing to see in other 
directions, had ceased to be. 

Keen though he was, his realization of this 
crisis in his life had come with characteristic 
slowness. When Lillian Astrupp had given 
her dictum, when the music of the orchestra 
had ceased and the curtain risen on the second 
act of the play, nothing but a sense of stupe- 
faction had filled his mind. In that moment 


1084 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


the great song was silenced, not by any por- 
tentous episode, by any incident that could 
have lent dignity to its end, but, with the 
full measure of life’s irony, by a trivial 
social commonplace. In the first sensation of 
blank loss his faculties had been numbed; in 
the quarter of an hour that followed the rise 
of the curtain he had sat staring at the stage, 
seeing nothing, hearing nothing, filled with 
the enormity of the void that suddenly sur- 
rounded him. Then, from habit, from con- 
stitutional tendency, he had begun slowly 
and perseveringly to draw first one thread 
and then another from the tangle of his 
thoughts — to forge with doubt and difficulty 
the chain that was to draw him towards the 
future. 

It was upon this same incomplete and yet 
tenacious chain that his mind worked as he 
traversed the familiar streets and at last 
gained the house he had so easily learned to 
call home. 

As he inserted the latch-key and felt it move 
smoothly in the lock a momentary revolt 
against his own judgment, his own censorship, 
swung him sharply towards reaction. But it 
is only the blind who can walk without a 
tremor on the edge of an abyss, and there 
was no longer a bandage across his eyes. The 
reaction flared up like a strip of lighted paper ; 
then, like the paper, it dropped back to ashes. 
He pushed the door open and slowly crossed 
the hall. 

The mounting of a staircase is often the 
index to a man’s state of mind. As Loder 
ascended the stairs of Chilcote’s house his 
shoulders lacked their stiffness, his head was 
no longer erect, he moved as though his feet 
were weighted. He was no longer the man of 
achievement, whose smallest opinion compels 
consideration; in the privacy of solitude he 
was the mere human flotsam to which he had 
once compared himself — the flotsam that, 
dreaming it has gained a harbor, wakes to 
find itself the prey of the incoming tide. 

He paused at the head of the stairs to rally 
his resolutions; then, still walking heavily, he 
passed down the corridor to Eve’s room. It 
was suggestive of his character that, having 
made his decision, he did not dally over its 
performance. Without waiting to knock, he 
turned the handle and walked into the room. 

It looked precisely as it always looked, but 
to Loder the rich, subdued coloring of books 
and flowers, the bronzes, the lamps, the fire — 
the whole air of culture and repose that the 


place conveyed — seemed to hold a deeper 
meaning than before; but it was on the in- 
stant that his eyes, crossing the inanimate 
objects, rested on their owner, that the true 
force of his position, the enormity of the 
task before him, made itself plain. And it 
must be accounted to his credit, in the sum- 
ming of his qualities, that then, in that mo- 
ment of trial, the thought of retreat, the 
thought of yielding, did not present itself. 

Eve was standing by the mantelpiece. She 
wore a very beautiful gown and a long string 
of diamonds was twisted about her neck; her 
soft black hair was coiled high after a foreign 
fashion, and held in place by a large diamond 
comb. As he entered the room she turned 
hastily, almost nervously, and looked at him 
with the rapid searching glance he had 
learned to expect from her ; then almost 
directly her expression changed to one of 
quick concern. With a faint exclamation of 
alarm, she stepped forward. 

“ What has happened?” she said. “You *' 
look like a ghost.” 

Loder made no answer. Moving into the 
room, he paused by the oak table that stood 
between the fireplace and the door. 

They made an unconscious tableau as they 
stood there — he with his hard, set face; she 
with her heightened color, her inexplicably 
bright eyes. They stood completely silent * 
for a space — a space that for Loder held no' 
suggestion of time; then finding the tension 
unbearable. Eve spoke again. 

“ Has anything happened ?” she asked, ap- 
prehensively. “ Is anything wrong ?” 

Had he been less engrossed, the intensity 
of her concern might have struck him ; but in 
a mind so harassed there was only room for 
one consideration. The sense of her question 
reached him, but its significance left him un- 
touched. 

“ Is anything wrong ?” she reiterated. 

By an effort he raised his eyes. ~No man, he 
thought, since the beginning of the world 
was ever set a task so cruel as his. Painfully 
and slowly his lips parted. 

“ Everything in the world is wrong,” he 
said, in a slow, hard voice. 

Eve said nothing, but her color suddenly 
deepened. 

Again Loder was unobservant. With the 
dogged resolution that marked him he forced 
himself to his task. 

“You despise lies,” he said at last. “Tell 
me what you would think of a man whose 



Drawn by Clarence F. Underwood. 


WITHOUT ANSWERING EVE WALKED TO THE CABINET, 



1086 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


whole life was one elaborated lie?” The 
words were slightly exaggerated, but their 
utterance, that painfully brusque sincerity, 
precluded all suggestion of effect. Resolutely 
holding her gaze, he repeated his question. 
“ Tell me! Answer me! I want to know.” 

Eve’s attitude was difficult to read. She 
stood twisting the string of diamonds between 
her fingers. 

“ Tell me !” he said again. 

She continued to look at him for a mo- 
ment; then, as if some fresh impulse moved 
her, she turned away from him towards the 
fire. 

“ I cannot,” she said. “ We — I — I could 
not set myself to judge — any one.” 

Loder held himself rigidly in hand. 

“ Eve,” he said, quietly, “ 1 was at the 
‘ Avenue ’ to-night. The play was ‘ Other 
Men’s Shoes.’ I suppose you’ve read the 
book Other Mens Shoes?” 

She was leaning on the mantelpiece and 
her face was invisible to him. “ Yes, I have 
read it,” she said, without looking round. 

“ It is the story of an extraordinary like- 
ness between two men. Do you believe such 
a likeness possible ? Do you think such a 
thing could exist ?” He spoke with difficulty ; 
his brain and tongue both felt numb. 

Eve let the diamond chain slip from her 
fingers. “ Yes,” she said, nervously. “ Yes, 
I do believe it. Such things have been — ” 

. Loder caught at the words. “ You’re quite 
right,” he said, quickly, “ quite right ! The 
thing is possible — I’ve proved it. I know a 
man so like me that you, even you, could not 
tell us apart.” 

Eve was silent, still averting her face. 

In dire difficulty Loder labored on. “ Eve,” 
he began once more, “ such a likeness is a 
serious thing — a terrible danger — a terrible 
temptation. Those who have no experience 
of it cannot possibly gauge its pitfalls — ” 
Again he paused, but again the silent figure 
by the fireplace gave him no help. 

“ Eve,” he exclaimed, suddenly, “ if you 
only knew, if you only guessed what I’m try- 
ing to say — ” The perplexity, the' whole har- 
assed suffering of his mind, showed in the 
words. Loder the strong, the resourceful, the 
self-contained, was palpably at a loss. There 
was almost a note of appeal in the vibration 
of his voice. 

And Eve, standing by the fireplace, heard 
and understood. In that moment of compre- 
hension all that held her silent, all the con- 


flicting motives that had forbidden speech, 
melted away before the unconscious demand 
for help. Quietly and yet quickly she turned 
round, her whole face transfigured by a light 
that seemed to shine from within — something 
singularly soft and tender. 

“ There’s no need to say anything,” she 
said, simply, “ because I know.” 

It came quietly, as most great revelations 
come. Her voice was low and free from any 
excitement, her face beautiful in its complete 
unconsciousness of self. In that supreme mo- 
ment all her thought, all her sympathy, was 
for the man — and his suffering. 

To Loder there was a space of incredulity; 
then his brain slowly swung to realization. 
“You know?” he repeated, blankly. “You 
know ?” 

Without answering, she walked to a cabinet 
that stood in the window, unlocked a drawer, 
and drew out several sheets of flimsy white 
paper, crumpled in places and closely covered 
with writing. Without a word she carried 
them back and held them out. 

He took them in silence, scanned them, 
then looked up. 

In a long wordless pause their eyes met. 
It was as if each looked speechlessly into the 
other’s heart, seeing the passions, the contra- 
dictions, the shortcomings, that went to the 
making of both. In that silence they drew 
closer together than they could have done 
through a torrent of words. There was no 
asking of forgiveness, no elaborate confession 
on either side; in the deep, eloquent, silence 
they mutually saw and mutually understood. 

“ When I came into the morning-xoom to- 
day,” Eve said at last, “ and saw Lillian As- 
trupp reading that telegram, nothing could 
have seemed further from me than the thought 
that I should follow her example. It was not 
until afterwards ; not until — he came into the 
room ; until I saw that you — as I believed, 
had fallen back again from what I respected 
to what I — despised, — that I knew how human 
I really was. As I watched them laugh and 
talk I felt suddenly that I was alone again — 
terribly alone. I — I think — I believe I was 
jealous in that moment—” She hesitated. 

“ Eve !” he exclaimed. 

But she broke. in quickly on the word. “I 
felt different in that moment,” she said. “I 
didn’t care about honor — or things like honor. 
After they had gone it seemed to me that I 
had missed something — something that they 
possessed. Oh, you don’t know what a 


THE MASQUERADER 


1087 


woman feels when she is jealous!” Again she 
paused and blushed. “ It was then that the 
telegram, and the thought of Lillian’s amused 
smile as she had read it, came to my mind. 
Feeling as I did — acting on what I felt, I 
crossed to the bureau and picked it up. In 
one second I had seen enough to make it im- 
possible to draw back. Oh, it may have been 
dishonorable, it may have been mean, but I 
wonder if any woman in the world would have 
done otherwise! I crumpled up the papers 
just as they were and carried them to my 
own room.” 

From the first to the last word of Eve’s 
story Loder’s eyes never left her face. In- 
stantly she had finished, his voice broke forth 
in irrepressible question. In that wonderful 
space of time he had learnt many things. 
All his deductions, all his apprehensions had 
been scattered and disproved. He had seen 
the true meaning of Lillian Astrupp’s amused 
indifference — the indifference of a variable, 
flippant nature that, robbed of any real 
weapon for mischief, soon tires of a game 
that promises to be too arduous. He saw all 
this, and understood it with a rapidity born 
of the moment ; nevertheless, when Eve ceased 
to speak the question that broke from him 
was not connected with this great discovery — 
was not even suggestive of it. It was some- 
thing, quite immaterial to any real issue, that 
yet overshadowed every consideration in the 
world. 

“ Eve,” he said, “ tell me your first thought 
— your first thought after the shock and the 
surprise — when you remembered me.” 

There was a fresh pause, but one of very 
short duration ; then Eve met his glance fear- 
lessly and frankly. The same pride and 
dignity, the same indescribable tenderness, 
that had responded to his first appeal shone 
in her face. 

“ My first thought was a great thankful- 
ness,” she said, simply. “ A thankfulness 
that you — that no man, could ever under- 
stand.” 

CHAPTER XXXII 

A S she finished speaking, Eve did not 
lower her eyes. To her, there was no 
suggestion of shame in her thoughts 
or her words; but to Loder, watching and 
listening, there was a perilous meaning con- 
tained in both. 

“ Thankfulness ?” he repeated, slowly. 
From his newly stirred sense of responsi- 


bility pity and sympathy were gradually ri- 
sing. He had never seen Eve as he saw her 
now, and his vision was all the clearer for 
the long oblivion. With a poignant sense of 
compassion and remorse the knowledge of her 
youth came to him, the youth that some 
women preserve in the midst of the world, 
when circumstances have permitted them to 
see much but to experience little. 

“ Thankfulness ?” he said again, more 
gently. 

A slight smile touched her lips. “ Yes,” 
she answered, softly. “ Thankfulness that my 
trust had been rightly placed.” 

She spoke simply and confidently, but the 
words struck Loder more sharply than any 
accusation. With a heavy sense of bitterness 
and renunciation he moved slowly forward. 

“ Eve,” he said, very gently, “ you don’t 
know what you say.” 

She had lowered her eyes as he came 
towards her; now again she lifted them in a 
swift upward glance. For the first time since 
he had entered the room a slight look of per- 
sonal doubt and uneasiness showed in her 
face. “ Why ?” she said. “ I — I don’t under- 
stand.” 

For a moment he answered nothing. He 
had found his first explanation overwhelm- 
ing; now suddenly it seemed to him that his 
present difficulty was more impossible to sur- 
mount. “ i. came here to-night to tell you 
something,” he began at last, “ but so far I 
have only said half — ” 

“ Half?” 

“ Yes, half.” He avoided the question in 
her eyes. Then conscious of the need for ex- 
planation, he plunged into rapid speech. 

“ A fraud like mine,” he said, “ has only 
one safeguard, one justification — a boundless 
audacity. Once shake that audacity, and the 
whole motive power crumbles to dust. It was 
to make the audacity impossible, to tell you 
the truth and make it impossible, that I came 
to-night. The fact that you already knew 
made the telling easier — but it altered noth- 
ing.” 

Eve raised her head, but he went reso- 
lutely on. 

“ To-night,” he said, “ I have seen into my 
own life, into my own mind, and my ideas 
have been roughly shaken into new places. 

“ We never make so colossal a mistake, Eve, 
as when we imagine that we know ourselves! 
Months ago, when your husband first proposed 
this scheme to me, I was, according to my 


1088 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


own conception, a solitary being vastly ill- 
used by Fate, who, with a fine stoicism, was 
leading a clean life. That was what I be- 
lieved; but there, at the very outset, I de- 
ceived myself. I was simply a man who shut 
himself up because he cherished a grudge 
against life and who lived honestly because 
he had a constitutional distaste for vice. My 
first feeling when I saw your husband was 
one of self-righteous contempt, and that has 
been my attitude all along. I have often 
marvelled at the flood of intolerance that has 
rushed over me at sight of him — the violent 
desire that has possessed me to look away 
from his weakness and banish the knowledge 
of it ; but now I understand.” He stopped for 
a moment to rally his determination. 

“ I know now what the feeling meant. The 
knowledge came to me to-night. It meant 
that I turned away from his weakness be- 
cause deep within myself something stirred 
in recognition of it. Humanity is really 
much simpler than we like to think, and 
human impulses have an extraordinary 
fundamental connection. Weakness is ego- 
tism — but so is strength. Chilcote follows his 
vice — I have followed my ambition. It will 
take a higher judgment than yours or mine 
to say which of us has been the more selfish 
man.” He paused again and looked at Eve. 

She was watching him intently. Some of 
the meaning in his face had found a pained, 
alarmed reflection in her own. But the awe 
and wonder of the morning’s discovery still 
colored her mind too vividly to allow of other 
considerations possessing their proper value. 
The thrill of exultation with which the mis- 
givings bom of Chilcote’s vice had dropped 
away from her mental image of Loder was 
still too absorbing to be easily dominated. 
She loved, and, as if by a miracle, her love had 
been justified. For the moment the justifica- 
tion seemed all-sufficing. Something of confi- 
dence — something of the innocence that comes 
not from ignorance of evil, but from a mind 
singularly uncontaminated, blinded her to 
the danger of her position. 

Loder, waiting apprehensively for some aid, 
some expression of opinion, became gradually 
conscious of this lack of realization. Moved 
by a fresh impulse, he crossed the small space 
that divided them and caught both her hands. 

u Eve,” he said, gently, “ I have been try- 
ing to analyze myself and give you the re- 
sults; but I sha’n’t try any more; I shall be 
quite plain with you. 


“ From the first moment I took your hus- 
band’s place I was ambitious. You uncon- 
sciously aroused the feeling when you brought 
me Fraide’s message on the first night. You 
aroused it by your words — but more strongly,, 
though more obscurely, by your underlying 
antagonism. On that night, though I did 
not know it, I took up my position — I made 
my determination. Do you know what that 
determination was?” 

Eve shook her head. 

“ It was the desire to stamp out Chilcote’s 
footmarks with my own — to prove that per- 
sonality is the great force capable of every- 
thing. I forgot to reckon that when we draw 
largely upon Fate she generally extorts a 
crushing interest. 

“First came the wish for your respect; 
then the desire to stand well with such men as 
Fraide — to feel the stir of emulation and 
competition — to prove myself strong in the 
one career I knew myself really fitted for. 
For a time the second ambition overshadowed 
the first, but the first was bound to reassert 
itself. In a moment of egotism I conceived 
the notion of winning your enthusiasm as 
well as your respect — ” 

Eve’s face, alert and questioning, suddenly 
paled as a doubt crossed her mind. “ Then it 
was only — only to stand well with me?” 

“ I believed it was only the desire to stand 
well with you ; I believed it until the night of 
my speech — if you can credit anything sa 
absurd ; then on that night, as I came up the 
stairs to the Gallery and saw you standing 
there, the blindness fell away and I knew 
that I loved you.” As he said the last words 
he released her hands and turned aside, miss- 
ing the quick wave of joy and color that 
crossed her face. 

“ I knew it, but it made no difference ; I 
was only moved to a higher self-glorification. 
I touched supremacy that night. But as we 
drove home I experienced the strangest coinci- 
dence of my life. You remember the block 
in the traffic at Piccadilly?” 

Again Eve bent her head. 

“ Well, when I looked out of the carriage 
window to discover its cause, the first man I 
saw was — Chilcote.” 

Eve started slightly. This swift, unexpect- 
ed linking of Chilcote’s name with the most 
exalted moment of her life stirred her un- 
pleasantly. Some glimmering of Loder’s in- 
tention in so linking it broke through the web 
of disturbed and conflicting thoughts. 



THE MASQUERADER 


1089 


You saw him on 
that night?” 

“Yes; and the sight 
ehilled me. It was a big 
drop from supremacy to 
the remembrance of — 
everything.” 

Involuntarily Eve put 
out her hand. 

But Loder shook his 
head. “ No,” he said, 

4i don’t pity me ! The 
sight of him came just 
in time. I had a reac- 
tion in that moment, 
and, such as it was, I 
acted on it. I went 
to him next morning 
and told him that the 
thing must end. But 
then, even then, I shirk- 
ed being honest with 
myself. I had meant 
to tell him that it must 
end because I had 
grown to love you, but 
my pride rose up and 
tied my tongue. I could 
not humiliate myself. I 
put the case before him 
in another light. It 
was a tussle of wills — 
and I won; but the vic- 
tory was not what it 
should have been. That 
was proved to-day when 
Chilcote returned to tell 
me of the loss of this 
telegram. It wasn’t the 
fear that Lady Astrupp 
had found it, it wasn’t 

to save the position, that I jumped at the 
chance of coming back. It was to feel the 
joy of living, the joy of seeing you — if only 
for a day!” For one second he turned towards 
her, then as abruptly he turned away. 

“ I was still thinking of myself,” he said. 
“ I was still utterly self-centred when I came 
to this room to-day and allowed you to talk 
to me — when I asked you to see me to-night 
as we parted at the club. I sha’n’t tell you the 
thoughts that unconsciously were in my mind 
when I asked that favor. You must under- 
stand without explanation. 

“ I went to the theatre with Lady Astrupp 
ostensibly to find out how the land lay in her 

VOL. xxxvtit. — 69 




Drawn by CLARENCE F. UNDERWOOD. 

“ THIS IS MR. CHILCOTE — THE GREAT NEW MR. CHILCOTE.” 


direction — really to heighten my self-esteem. 
But there. Fate — or the power we like to call 
by that name — was lying in wait for me, 
ready to claim the first interest in the portion 
of life I had dared to borrow.” He said this 
slowly, as if measuring each word. He did not 
glance towards Eve as he had done in his 
previous pause. His whole manner seemed op- 
pressed by the gravity of what he had still to 
say. 

“ I doubt if a man has ever seen more in 
half an hour than I have done to-night,” he 
said. “ Fm speaking of mental seeing, of 
course. In this play, ‘ Other Men’s Shoes,’ 
two men change identities — as Chilcote and 


1090 


HARPER’S BAZAR 


I have done ; but in doing so they overlook one 
fact — the fact that one of them has a wife! 
That’s not my way of putting it; it’s the 
way it was put to me by one of Lady As- 
trupp’s party.” 

Again Eve looked up. The doubt and ques- 
tion in her eyes had grown unmistakably. As 
Loder ceased -to speak her lips parted quickly. 

“ John,” she said, with sudden conviction, 
u you’re trying to say something — something 
that’s terribly hard.” 

Without raising his head, Loder answered 
her. “ Yes,” he said, “ the hardest thing a 
man ever said — ” 

His tone was short, almost brusque, but to 
ears sharpened by instinct it was eloquent. 
Without a word Eve took a step forward, and 
standing quite close to him, laid both hands 
on his shoulders. 

For a space they stood silent, she with her 
face lifted, he with averted eyes. Then very 
gently he raised his hands and tried to unclasp 
her fingers. There was scarcely any color 
visible in his face, and by a curious effect of 
emotion it seemed that lines, never before 
noticeable, had formed about his mouth. 

“ What is it?” Eve asked, apprehensively. 
“ What is it?” 

By a swift involuntary movement' she had 
tightened the pressure of her fingers, and 
without using force it was impossible for 
Loder to unloose them. With his hands 
pressed irresolutely over hers, he looked down 
into her face. 

“ As I sat in the theatre to-night, Eve,” he 
said, slowly, “ all the pictures I had formed 
of life shifted. Without desiring it, with- 
out knowing it, my whole point of view was 
changed. I suddenly saw things by the 
world’s searchlight instead of by my own 
miserable candle. I suddenly saw things for 
you — instead of for myself.” 

Eve’s eyes widened and darkened, but she 
said nothing. 

“ I suddenly saw the unpardonable wrong 
that I have done you — the imperative duty 
of cutting it short.” He spoke very slowly. 

Eve, her eyes still wide, her face pained and 
alarmed, waited for him to pause; then with 
the haste of fear she drew away her hands. 
“You mean,” she said, with difficulty, “that 
it is going to end ? That you are going away ? 
That you are going forever — for always ? Oh, 
but you can’t! You can’t! You mustn’t! 
The only proof that could have interfered — ” 

“ I wasn’t thinking of the proof.” 


“ Then of what ? of what ?” 

Loder was silent for a moment. “ Of our 
■ love,” he said, steadily. 

Eve colored deeply. “ But why ?” she 
stammered, “why? We have done no wrong. 
We need do no wrong. We would be friends 
— nothing more; and I — oh, I so need a 
friend !” 

For almost the first time in Loder’s knowl- 
edge of her, her voice broke, her control de- 
serted her. She stood before him in all the 
pathos of her lonely girlhood — her empty life. 
The revelation touched him with sudden 
poignancy ; the real strength that lay beneath 
his faults, the chivalry buried under years of 
callousness, stirred at the birth of a new 
emotion. The resolution preserved at such a 
cost* the sacrifice that had seemed well-nigh 
impossible, all at once took on a different 
shape. What before had been a barren duty 
became suddenly a sacred right. Holding out 
his arms, he drew her to him as if she had 
been a child. 

“ Eve,” he said, gently, “ I have learned to- 
night how fully a woman’s life is at the 
mercy of the world — and how scanty that 
mercy is. If circumstances had been different, 
I believe — I am convinced, I would have made 
you a good husband — would have used my 
right to protect you as well as a. man could 
use it. And now that things are different, I 
want — I should like — ” He hesitated a very 
little. “How that I have no right to protect 
you — except the right my love gives, — I want 
to guard you as closely from all that is sordid 
as any husband could guard his wife. 

“ In life there are really only two broad 
issues — right and wrong. Whatever we may 
say, whatever we may profess to believe, we 
know that our action is always a choice be- 
tween right and wrong. A month ago — a week 
ago, I would have despised a man who could 
talk like this — and have thought myself strong 
for despising him. Now I know that strength 
is something more than the trampling of 
others into the dust that we ourselves may 
have a clear road; that it is something much 
harder and much less triumphant than that — 
that it is standing aside to let somebody else 
walk on. Eve,” he exclaimed, suddenly, “ I’m 
trying to do this for you. Don’t you see? 
Don’t you understand? The easy course, the 
happy course, would be to let things drift. 
Every instinct is calling to me to take that 
course — to go on as I have gone, trading on 
Chilcote’s weakness and your — generosity. 


RETURN 


1091 


But I won’t do it! I can’t do it!” With a 
swift impulse he loosed his arms and held 
her away from him. “ Eve, it’s the first time 
I have put another human being before my- 
self!” 

Eve kept her head bent. Slow, painful sobs 
were shaking her whole frame. 

“ It’s something in you, something uncon- 
scious, something high and fine, that holds 
me back — that literally bars the way. Eve, 
can’t you see that I’m fighting — fighting 
hard ?” 

After he had spoken there was silence — a 
long, painful silence during which Eve waged 
the battle that so many of her sex have waged 
before; the battle in which words are useless 
and tears of no account. She looked very 
slight, very young, very forlorn, as she stood 


there. Then, in the oppressive sense of 
waiting that filled the whole room, she 
looked up. 

Her face was stained with tears, her thick 
black lashes were still wet with them; but her 
expression, as her eyes met Loder’s, was a 
strange example of the courage, the firmness, 
the power of sacrifice that may be hidden in a 
fragile vessel. 

She said nothing; for in such a moment 
words do not come easily, but with the 
simplest, most submissive, most eloquent 
gesture in the world she set his perplexity to 
rest. 

Taking his hand between both of hers, she 
lifted it and for a long silent space held it 
against her lips. 

[to be continued.] 


RETURN 

BY ZONA GALE 

How they come back ! I never see retreat 

Down a long beach the phalanx of bright foam 
But faint across the fields that fold them home 
I hear the rhythmic fall of speeding feet; 

And those who loved the gardens of the sea 
And died, come back. I never knew a land 
Of silver cities but there came to me 

Their ancient listening dead to touch my hand. 

O dreaming dead, who dare not let your eyes 
Flower from the dusk and flame into our own, 
Yet come you as hushed notes in harmonies 
To all the ways of life that you have known. 
Homer in blowing spray round swift-prowed ships, 
Dante in every cry of lips for lips ! 






CHAPTER XXXIII 
OR a space there was silence; 
then Loder, bitterly aware that 
he had conquered, poignantly 
conscious of the appeal that 
Eve’s attitude made, found 
further endurance impossible. 
Gently freeing his hand, he moved away from 
her to the fireplace, taking up the position 
that she had first occupied. 

“ Eve,” he said, slowly, “ I haven’t finished 
yet. I haven’t said everything. I’m going to 
tax your courage further.” 

With a touch of pained alarm, Eve lifted 
her head. “ Further ?” she repeated. 

Loder shrank from her eyes. “ Yes,” he 
said, with difficulty. “ There’s still another 
point to be faced. The matter doesn’t end 
with my going hack. To have the situation 
fully saved, Chilcote must return — Chilcote 
must be brought to realize his responsibili- 
ties.” 

Eve’s lips parted in dumb dismay. 

“It must be done,” he went on, “and we 
have got to do it — you and I.” 

“ I ? I could do nothing. What could I 
do?” 


“ Eve,” he said, “ you could do everything. 
He is morally weak, but he has one sensitive 
point — the fear of a public exposure. Once 
make it plain to him that you know his secret, 
and you can compel him to whatever course of 
action you select. It was to ask you to do 
this — to beg you to do this — that I came to 
you to-night. I know that it’s demanding 
more than a woman’s resolution — more than a 
woman’s strength. But you are like no other 
woman in the world ! 


Begun in Harpkr’s Bazar No. i, Vol. XXXVIII. 


Ki Eve !” he added, with sudden vehemence, 
“can’t you see that it’s imperative — the one 
thing to save us both ?” 

He stopped abruptly as he had begun, and 
again a painful silence filled the room. Then, 
as before, Eve moved instinctively towards 
him, but this time her steps were slow and 
heavy with the sense of finality. Nearing 
his side, she put out her hand as if for com- 
fort and support ; and feeling his fingers 
tighten round it, stood for a moment as if 
resting in the contact. Then slowly she look- 
ed up. 

“ I understand,” she said, very slowly. “ I 
understand. When will you take me to 
him?” 

For a moment Loder said nothing, not 
daring to trust his voice; then he answered, 
low and abruptly. “ Now,” he said. • “ Now, 
at once; now, this moment if I can. And — 
and remember that I know what it costs you.” 
Then, as if imbued with fear that his courage 
might fail him, he suddenly released her 
hand, and crossing the room to where a long 
dark cloak lay as she had thrown it on her 
return from the Bramfells’, he picked it up, 
walked to her side, and silently wrapped it 
about her. Still acting automatically, he 
moved to the door, opened it, and stood aside 
while she passed out into the corridor. 

In complete silence they descended the 
stairs and passed to the hall door. There 
Crapham, who had returned to his duties 
since Loder’s entrance, came quickly forward 
with an offer of service. 

But Loder dismissed him curtly; and with 
something of the confusion bred of Chilcote’s 
regime the man drew back towards the stair- 
case. 



o 


HARPERS BAZAR 


With a hasty movement Loder stepped for- 
ward, and, opening the door, admitted a breath 
of chill air. Then on the threshold he paused. 
It was his first sign of hesitation; the one 
instant in which nature rebelled against the 
conscience so tardily awakened. He stood 
motionless for a moment, and it is doubtful 
whether even Eve fully fathomed the bitter- 
ness of his renunciation, the blackness of 
the night that stretched before his eyes. 

Behind him was everything, before him, 
nothing; the everything symbolized by the 
luxurious house, the eagerly attentive serv- 
ants, the pleasant atmosphere of responsi- 
bility; the nothing represented by the broad 
public thoroughfare, the passing figures, each 
unconscious of and uninterested in his exist- 
ence. As an interloper he had entered this 
house; as an interloper, a masquerader, he 
had played his part, lived his hour, proved 
himself; as an interloper he was now passing 
back into the dim world of unrealized hopes 
and unachieved ambitions. 

He stood rigidly quiet, his strong, lean 
figure silhouetted against the lighted hall, 
his face cold and set; then, with a touch of 
fatality, chance cut short his struggle. 

An empty hansom wheeled round the corner 
of the square; the cabman, seeing him, raised 
his whip in query, and involuntarily he 
nodded an acquiescence. A moment later he 
had helped Eve into the cab. 

“Middle Temple Lane!” he directed, paus- 
ing on the step. 

“ Middle Temple Lane is opposite to Clif- 
ford’s Inn,” he explained as he took his place 
beside her. “ When we get out there we have 
only to cross Fleet Street.” 

Eve bent her head, and the cab moved out 
into the roadway. 

Within a few minutes the neighborhood of 
Grosvenor Square was exchanged for the 
noisier and more crowded one of Piccadilly, 
but either the cabman was overcautious or the 
horse was below the average, for they made 
but slow progress through the more crowded 
streets. To the two sitting in silence the 
pace was well-nigh unbearable. With every 
added movement the tension grew. The 
methodical care with which they moved 
seemed like the tightening of a string already 
strained to breaking-point, yet neither spoke 
— because neither had the courage necessary 
for words. 

Once or twice as they traversed the Strand, 
Loder made a movement as if to break the 


silence, but nothing followed it. He con- 
tinued to lean forward with a certain dogged 
stiffness, his clasped hands resting on the 
doors of the cab, his eyes staring straight 
ahead. Not once, as they threaded their way, 
did he dare to glance at Eve, though every 
movement, every stir of her garments, was 
forced upon his consciousness by his acutely 
awakened senses. 

When at last they drew up before the dark 
archway of Middle Temple Lane he descend- 
ed hastily. Then as he mechanically turned 
to protect Eve’s dress from the wheel, he 
looked at her fully for the first time since 
their enterprise had been undertaken, and as 
he looked he felt his heart sink. He had ex- 
pected to see the marks of suffering on her 
face, but the expression he saw suggested 
something more. 

All the rich color that deepened and soften- 
ed the charm of her beauty had been erased 
as if by illness; against the new pallor of 
her skin her blue eyes, her black hair and 
eyebrows seemed startlingly dark. A chill 
colder than remorse, a chill that bordered 
upon actual fear, touched Loder in that mo- 
ment. With the first impulsive gesture he 
had allowed himself, he touched her arm. 

“ Eve — ” he began, unsteadily ; then the 
w r ord died off his lips. 

Without a sound, almost without a move- 
ment, she returned his glance, and something 
in her eyes checked what he might have said. 
In that one expressive look he understood all 
she had desired, all she had renounced; the 
full extent of the ordeal she had consented to 
— and the motive that had compelled her con- 
sent. He drew back with the heavy sense 
that repentance and pity were equally futile, 
equally out of place. 

Still in silence she stepped to the pave- 
ment and stood aside while Loder dismissed 
the cab. To both there was something sym- 
bolic, something prophetic in the dismissal. 
Without intention and almost unconsciously 
they drew closer together as the horse turned 
slowly, its hoofs clattering on the roadway, 
its harness jingling; and, still without realiza- 
tion, they looked after the vehicle as it moved 
away down the long, shadowed thoroughfare 
towards the lights and the crowds they had 
left. Then involuntarily they turned to- 
wards each other. 

“ Come !” Loder said, abruptly. “ It’s only 
across the road.” 

Fleet Street is generally very quiet, once 


THE MASQUERADER 


8 


midnight is passed, and Eve had no need of 
guidance or protection as they crossed the 
pavement shining like ice in the lamplight. 
They crossed it slowly, walking apart ; for the 
dread of physical contact that had possessed 
them in the cab seemed to have fallen on 
them again. 

Inquisitiveness has little place in that region 
of the city, and they gained the opposite foot- 
path unnoticed by the casual passer-by. Then, 
still holding apart, they reached and entered 
Clifford’s Inn. 

Inside the entrance they paused, and Eve 
shivered involuntarily. “ How gray it is !” 
she said, faintly. “ iVnd how cold ! Like a 
graveyard.” 

Loder turned to her. “ Eve — ” he began, 
vehemently; then he stopped. 

There was a fresh silence — a silence more 
perilous and perhaps more eloquent than any 
that had gone before. For one moment he 
faltered; his blood surged, his vision clouded, 
the sense that life and love were still within 
his reach filled him overwhelmingly. He 
turned towards Eve; he half extended his 
hands ; then, stirred by what impulse, moved 
by what instinct it was impossible to say, he 
let them drop to his sides again. 

“ Come !” he said. “ Come ! This is the 
way. Keep close to me. Put your hand on 
my arm.” He spoke quietly, but his eyes 
were resolutely averted as they crossed the 
dim, silent court. 

Entering the gloomy doorway that led to his 
own rooms, he felt her fingers tremble on his 
arm, then tighten in their pressure as the 
bare passage and cheerless stairs met her 
view, but he set his lips. 

“ Come !” he repeated, in the same strained 
voice. “ Come ! It isn’t far — three or four 
flights.” 

With a white face and a curious expression 
in her eyes Eve moved forward. She had re- 
leased Loder’s arm as they crossed the hall, 
and now, reaching the stairs, she put out her 
hand gropingly and caught the banisters. She 
had a pained, numb sense of submission, of 
suffering that had sunk to apathy. Moving 
forward without resistance, she began to 
mount the stairs. 

The ascent was made in silence. Loder 
went first, his shoulders stiffly braced, his 
head held erect; Eve, mechanically watchful 
of all his movements, followed a step or two 
behind. With weary monotony one flight of 
stairs succeeded another, each, to her unac- 


customed eyes, seeming more colorless, more 
solitary, more desolate than the preceding one. 

Then at last, with a sinking sense of ap- 
prehension, she realized that their goal was 
reached. 

The knowledge broke sharply through her 
dulled senses ; and confronted by the closeness 
of her ordeal, she paused, her head lifted, her 
hand nervously grasping the banister. Her 
lips parted, but in the nervous expectation, the 
pained apprehension of the moment no sound 
escaped them. Loder, resolutely crossing the 
landing, saw nothing of the silent appeal. 

For a second she stood hesitating; then her 
own weakness, her own shrinking dismay,, 
were submerged in the interest of his move- 
ments. Slowly mounting the remaining 
steps, she followed him as if fascinated to- 
wards the door that showed dingily con- 
spicuous in the light of an unshaded gas-jet. 

Almost at the moment that she reached his 
side he extended his hand towards the door. 
The action was decisive and hurried, as 
though he feared to trust himself. 

For a moment he fumbled with the lock. 
Eve, standing close behind him, heard the 
handle creak and turn under his pressure. 
Then he shook the door. 

At last, slowly, almost reluctantly, he turn- 
ed round. “ I’m afraid things aren’t quite — 
quite right,” he said, in a low voice. “ The 
door is locked and I can see no light.” 

She raised her eyes quickly. “ But you have 
a key ?” she whispered. “ Haven’t you a 
key?” It was obvious that to both the unex- 
pected check to their designs was fraught 
with danger. 

“ Yes, but — ” He looked again towards the 
door ; then looked back. “ Yes — I have a key. 
Yes, you’re right !” he added, quickly. “ I’ll 
use it. Wait while I go inside.” 

Filled with a new nervousness, oppressed 
by the loneliness, the silence about her, Eve 
drew back obediently. The sense of mystery 
conveyed by the locked door weighed upon 
her. Her susceptibilities were tensely alert 
as she watched Loder search for his key and 
insert it in the lock. With mingled dread 
and curiosity she saw the door yield, and gape 
open like a black gash in the dingy wall; 
with a sudden sense of desertion she saw him 
pass through the aperture and heard him 
strike a match. 

The wait that followed seemed extraordi- 
narily long. She heard Loder move softly 
from one room to the other ; then to her 


4 


HARPERS BAZAR 


acutely nervous susceptibilities it seemed 
that he paused in absolute silence. In the 
intensity of listening she heard her own 
faint, irregular breathing, and the sound 
tilled her with panic. The silence, the soli- 
tude, the vague instinctive apprehension, be- 
came suddenly unendurable. Then all at 
once the tension was relieved. Loder reap- 
peared. 

He paused for a second in the shadowy 
doorway ; then he turned unsteadily, drew 
the door to, and locked it. 

Eve stepped forward. Her glimpse of him 
had been momentary; she had not heard his 
voice, yet the consciousness of his bearing 
filled her with instinctive alarm. Her hands 
turned cold, her heart beat violently. 

“ John — ” she said, below her breath. 

For answer, he moved towards her. His 
face was bereft of color; there was a look of 
consternation in his eyes. “ Come !” he said. 
“ Come at once ! I must take you home.” 
He spoke in a shaken, uneven voice. 

Eve, looking up at him, caught his hand. 
“ Why ? Why ?” she questioned. Her tone 
was low and scared. 

Without replying, he drew her imperatively 
towards the stairs. “ Go very softly,” he 
said. “ No one must see you here.” 

In the first moment she obeyed him in- 
stinctively; then, reaching the head of the 
stairs, she stopped. With one hand still 
clasping his, the other clinging nervously to 
the banister, she refused to descend. “ John,” 
she whispered, “ I’m not a child. What is 
it? What has happened? I must know.” 

For a moment Loder looked at her uncer- 
tainly ; then reading the expression in her 
eyes, he yielded. 

“ He’s dead,” he said, in a very low voice. 
“ Chilcote is dead.” 

CHAPTER XXXIV 

T O fully appreciate a great announce- 
ment we must have time at our dis- 
posal. At the moment of Loder’s dis- 
closure time was denied to Eve; for scarcely 
had the words left his lips before the thought 
that dominated him asserted its prior claim. 
Blind to the incredulity in her eyes, he drew 
her swiftly forward, and half impelling, half 
supporting her, forced her to descend the 
stairs. 

Never in after life could he obliterate the 
remembrance of that descent. Fear such as 


he could never experience in his own concerns 
possessed him. One desire overrode all others 
— the desire that Eve’s reputation, for which 
he had been willing to pay so high, should re- 
main unimperilled. In the shadow of that 
urgent duty the despair of the past hours, 
the appalling fact so lately realized, the 
future with its possible trials, became dark 
to his imagination. In his new victory over 
self the question of Eve’s protection alone 
predominated. 

Moving under this compulsion, he drew her 
hastily and silently down the deserted stairs, 
drawing a breath of deep relief as, one after 
another, the landings were successfully pass- 
ed ; and still actuated by the suppressed need 
of haste, he passed through the doorway that 
they had entered under such different condi- 
tions only a few minutes before. 

The leaving of the quiet court, the gaining 
of the Strand, the hailing of a belated cab, 
were the work of a moment. By an odd con- 
trivance of circumstance the luck that had 
attended every phase of Loder’s dual life was' 
again exerted in his behalf. No one had 
noticed their entry into Clifford’s Inn, no 
one was moved to curiosity by their exit. 
With an involuntary thrill of feeling he gave 
expression to his relief. 

“ Thank God, it’s over!” he said, as a cab 
drew up. “You don’t know what the strain 
has been.” Then very quietly he assisted her 
to her place. 

Moving as if in a dream, she stepped into 
the cab. As yet the terrible denouement to 
their enterprise had made no clear impres- 
sion upon her mind. For the moment all 
that she was conscious of, all that she in- 
stinctively acknowledged, was the fact that 
Loder was still beside her. 

In quiet obedience she took her place, 
drawing aside her skirts to make room for 
him ; and in the same subdued manner he fol- 
lowed her. Then, with the strange sensation 
of reliving their earlier drive, they were 
aware of the tightened rein and of the horse’s 
first forward movement. 

For several seconds neither spoke. Eve, 
shutting out all other thoughts, sat close to 
Loder, clinging tenaciously to the moment- 
ary comforting sense of protection ; Loder, 
striving to marshal his ideas, hesitated before 
the ordeal of speech. At last, realizing his 
responsibility, he turned to her slowly. 

“ Eve,” he said, in a low voice and with 
some hesitation, “ I want you to know that 


THE MASQUERADER 


5 


in all this — from the moment I saw him — 
from the moment I understood, I have had 
you in my thoughts — you and no one 
else.” 

She raised her eyes to his face. 

“ Eve,” he began afresh, “ do you realize ? 
Do you know what this — this thing means?” 

Still she remained silent. 

“ It means that after to-night there will be 
no such person in London as John Loder. 
To-morrow the man who was known by that 
name will be found in his rooms; his body 
will be taken away, and at the post-mortem 
examination it will be stated that he died 
of an overdose of opium. His charwoman 
will identify him as a solitary man who lived 
respectably for years and then suddenly went 
down-hill with remarkable speed. It will be 
quite a common case. Nothing of interest 
will be found in his rooms; no relation will 
claim his body ; after the usual time he will be 
given the usual burial of his class. These de- 
tails are horrible; but there are times when 
we must look at the unpleasant side of life — 
because it is part of life. 

“ These things I speak of are the things 
that will meet the casual eye; in our sight 
they will have a very different meaning. 

“ Eve,” he said, more vehemently, “ a whole 
chapter in my life has been closed to-night, 
and my first instinct is to shut the book and 
throw it away. But I’m thinking of you. 
Remember, I’m thinking of you. Whatever 
the trial, whatever the difficulty, no harm 
shall come to you. You have my word for 
that ! 

“ I’ll return with you now to Grosvenor 
Square; I’ll remain till a reasonable excuse 
can be given for Chilcote’s going abroad ; I 
shall avoid Eraide, I shall cut politics — what- 
ever the cost ; then at the first reasonable mo- 
ment I shall do what I would do now, to- 
night, if it were possible. I shall go away; 
I shall start afresh; I shall do in another 
country what I have done in this!” 

There was a long silence; Then slowly Eve 
turned to him. The apathy of a moment be- 
fore had left her face. “ In another coun- 
try?” she repeated. “In anther country?” 

“Yes; a fresh career in a fresh country. 
Something clean to offer you. I’m not too 
old to do what other men have done.” 

For a moment Eve looked ahead at the 
gleaming chain of lamps ; then, still very 
slowly, she brought her glance back again. 
“ You are quite right,” she said, thoughtfully. 


“ A man can never be too old ; but you cannot * 
say the same of a woman.” 

Loder met her eyes with something of per- 
plexity. For a moment she returned his gaze 
inscrutably; then the unreadable expression 
passed from her face and a look of candid 
trust, very tender and appealing, shone in 
its place. 

“John,” she said, gently, “can’t you see 
that I’m thinking of myself? You may go 
and make a new life and a new name — a man 
may always do it. But what am I to do? 

I have only one life — to live as best I can; 
and all that life — all of it — all of it, has been 
given to you. 

“ I know I’m thinking of myself ; but I’m 
thinking of you as well. Why should you go 
away? Why should you make a new life? 
It — it seems like following a phantom light 
when there’s a lantern waiting to be carried !” 
Her breath caught; she drew away from him, 
frightened and elated by her own words. 

Loder turned to her sharply. “ Eve !” he 
exclaimed ; then his tone changed. “ You 
don’t know what you’re saying,” he added, 
quickly; “you don’t understand what you’re 
saying.” 

Eve leant forward again. “ Yes,” she said, 
slowly, “ I do understand.” Her voice was 
controlled, her manner convinced. She was 
no longer the girl conquered by strength 
greater than her own ; she was a woman 
strenuously demanding her right to indi- 
vidual happiness. 

“ I understand it all,” she repeated. “ I 
understand every point; it all came to me as 
I listened to what you said. It was not 
chance that made you change your identity, 
that made you care for me, that brought 
about — his death. I don’t believe it was 
chance ; I believe it was something much 
higher. You are not meant to go away!” 

As Loder watched her the remembrance 
of his first days as Chilcote rose again; the 
remembrance of how he had been dimly 
filled with the belief that below her self-pos- 
session lay a strength, a depth, uncommon in 
woman. As he studied her now the in- 
stinctive belief flamed into conviction. 

“ Eve !” he said, involuntarily. 

With a quick gesture she raised her head.' 
“No!” she exclaimed. “No; don’t say any- 
thing! You are going to see things as I 
see them — you must do so — you have no 
choice. No real man ever casts away the 
substance for the shadow!” Her eyes shone; 


6 


HARPERS BAZAR 


the color, the glow, the vitality, rushed back 
into her face. 

“ J ohn,” she said, softly, “ I love you — and 
I need you; but there is something with a 
greater claim — a greater need than mine. 
Don’t you know what it is?” 

Loder said nothing; made no gesture. 

“It is the party — the country. You might 
put love aside, but duty is different. You 
have pledged yourself. You are not meant 
to draw back.” 

' Loder’s lips parted. 

“Don’t!” she said again. “Don’t say any- 
thing! I know all that is in your mind. 
But, when we sift things right through, it 
isn’t my love nor our happiness that’s really 
in the balance. It is your future!” Her 
voice thrilled. “ You are going to be a 
great man; and a great man is the property 
of his country. He has no right to indi- 
vidual action.” 

Again Loder made an effort to speak, but 
again she checked him. 

“Wait!” she exclaimed. “Wait! You be- 
lieve you have acted wrongly, and you are des- 
perately afraid of doing so again. But is it 
really truer, more loyal for you and me to work 
out a long probation in grooves that are al- 
ready overfilled than to marry quietly abroad 
and fill the places that have need of us? 
That is the question I want you to answer. 
Is it really truer and nobler? Oh, I see the 
doubt that is in your mind! You think it 
finer to go away and make a new life than to 
live the life that is waiting you — because one 
is independent and the other means the use 
of another’s man’s name and another man’s 
money. That is the thought in your mind. 
But what is it that prompts that thought?” 
Again her voice caught, but she looked him 
straightly in the eyes. “ I shall tell you,” 
she said, gently. “ It is not self-sacrifice — 
but pride!” She said the word fearlessly. 

A flush crossed Loder’s face. “ A man re- 
quires pride,” he said, in a low voice. 

“Yes, at the right time. But is this the 
right time? Is it ever right to throw away 
the substance for the shadow? You say that 
I don’t understand — don’t realize. I realize 
more to-night than I have realized in all my 
life. I know that you have an opportunity 
that can never come again — and that it’s 
terribly possible to let it slip.” 

She paused. Loder, his hands resting on 
the closed doors of the cab, sat very silent, 
with averted eyes and bent head. 


“ Only to-night,” she went on, “ you told 
me that everything was crying to you to take 
the easy, pleasant way. Then it was strong 
to turn aside; but now it is not strong. It 
is far nobler to fill an empty niche than to 
carve one out for yourself. John” — she 
suddenly leant forward, laying her hands 
over his — “Mr. Fraide told me to-night that 
in his new Ministry my — my husband was to 
be Under Secretary for Foreign Affairs!” 

The words fell softly. So softly that to 
ears less comprehending than Loder’s their 
significance might have been lost — as his 
rigid attitude and unresponsive manner 
might have conveyed lack of understanding 
to any eyes less observant than Eve’s. 

For a long space there was no word spoken. 
At last, with a very gentle pressure, her 
fingers tightened over his hands. 

“ J ohn — ” she began, gently ; then the 
word died away and she drew back into her 
seat as the cab stopped before Chilcote’s 
house. 

Simultaneously as they descended the hall 
door was opened and a flood of warm light 
poured out reassuringly into the darkness. 

“ I thought it was your cab, sir,” Crapham 
explained, deferentially, as they passed into 
the hall. “Mr. Fraide has been waiting to 
see you this half-hour. I showed him into 
the study.” Like the well-trained servant 
that he was, he closed the door and softly re- 
tired. 

Then in the warm light, amid the gravely 
dignified surroundings that had marked his 
first entry into this hazardous second exist- 
ence, Eve turned to Loder for the verdict 
upon which the future hung. 

As she turned, his face was still hidden 
from her, and his attitude betrayed nothing. 

“John,” she said, slowly, “you know why 
he is here. You know that he has come to 
offer you this place; to receive your refusal — 
or consent.” 

She ceased to speak; there was a moment of 
suspense; then Loder turned. His face was 
still pale and grave with the gravity of a man 
who has but recently been close to death, but 
beneath the gravity was another look — the old 
expression of strength and self-reliance, tem- 
pered, raised, and dignified by a new hu- 
mility. 

Moving forward, he held out his hands. 

“ My consent or refusal,” he said, very 
quietly, “ lies with — my wife.” 

THE END. 


LB N M 
























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